Her Touch

Subtly, like passing strangers,
but, oh we know the touch.
You bend to prepare me,
and show too much.

Your breasts are mine.
My groin feels a thrust.
I cannot hide it,
You smile like you must.

I rise to the occasion, standing.
Your sweet spot in my hip.
My thing in your thrill.
Puts a curl to your lip.

Your breasts heave with danger,
but love my brushing touch.
You throw me to the bed.
I spasm too much.

Fingers on my stockings,
slide down my thighs.
Linger a moment,
and massage my sighs.

Stretching limbs to full extent
brushing me privately with intent.
Tweak a little, this way or that.
Feel the heat as it grows fat.

Now, you tuck me into bed.
Naked, with little tucks of spread.
Arrange me this way or that.
Touch me gently where it's at.

Cleaning gently in the night,
nimble fingers feel so right.
Stroke me gently out of sight,
till I come with all my might.

Morning comes you dress me up,
pull my stockings to the cup.
Run my fingers up your thighs,
look down your top with eager eyes.

Regret your leaving with the morn,
your touch still hot, I feel reborn.

Her touching hands

Image Courtesy the BBC

Copyright 2005 © Ronald W. Hull



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