Wet

We sit on a wet bench
in Central Park.
Far away from prying eyes,
in the calm of a storm,
we are alone.

The autumn leaves lay damp at our feet;
yellow, orange, and red.
In the distance
a man walks his dog.
No one is watching us.

Your eyes twinkle with lust
love, and desire.
I cannot help
but acquiesce;
I am a slave to your passions.

A kiss, and then another.
I grab your breasts
and give the nipples a hard squeeze.
You sigh and bite your lip
And I bite mine.

I twist and you let out a moan
that stirs something primal
deep inside of me.
I pull you closer.
I hope no one is watching.

Pleasure begets pleasure
and I twist and squeeze
as you moan and gasp.
I know you’re wet
If I could be, I would be, too.

I slap your face one, two, three times
and your cheeks turn red,
as red as the autumn leaves.
It starts to rain
We laugh, now we’re both wet.