Warm, wet circles across your skin,
Mark the trail of my desire,
Where lips like flowers,
Gently brushed,
And you with perfect trust,
Allowed me with a tender touch,
To trace and mould the contours,
Of your passion,
Stranding you upon those hights,
Where you must choose,
To breath or call my name,
That ache within that builds,
Rising to sweet torment,
Which leaves you trembling in my arms,
The subtle taste of you,
Salt and sweet upon my lips.