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The Touch Of Her Hand



The Touch Of Her Hand

It is a sun splashed day; the air is silent with the sound of waves from an ocean moving to the rhythm of crying gulls.
 The sand underneath my feet is warm and soothing.
The crashing waters from a wind sculpted waterfall swims into the arms of its mother sea.
 It is a private beach at a spot in the world were the Caribbean Sea and The Atlantic Ocean hug.
 It is a strange sensation of hot then cold, that tease the senses.
The young woman with me is my lover of four years. The golden rays of light from the bright morning star lives in the flow of her platinum blond hair.
In her eyes I can see the bright clear blue ocean, warm, but with a piercing love glare that sends shivers up my spine.
 We are young, in love and safe inside a perfect glossy postcard background.
 Her red lips and light drenched skin glows with the beauty of this perfect Jamaican day.
Without a thought I grab the back of her head, jerking my lover's whole body towards me locking her in the strength of my grasp inviting her to quench my desire
. I bite her lips before engaging in a deep passionate kiss and remove a barely there bikini from her statuesque figure.
She embraces me as I lift her in my arms naked for all the Gods to observe. I set her down under the refreshing flow of the rushing waterfall.
She attempts to pull at me, but I deny her. I hold back both her arms and use my mouth to suckle her all the time absorbing the beating waters that kneads my flesh, like so much dough.
 Suddenly I set my angel free. She pounces on me, like a lioness in heat famished for the taste of flesh. The world disappears and I find myself willingly trapped in a void. Nature's voice conducts an orchestra of emotion.
 We writhe in the ecstasy of touch. With the strokes of a divinity fingers paint a portrait of rapture.
 We dance now to the precise notes of an escape into the arms of serenity. In one fluid movement, our bodies become one.
There is no end to the divine flavors we share. Cooling waters flame our sins.
 We explode like a building imploding gracefully to the roar of infinite sound. Until eventually we pass out naked locked in each others arms
. We find ourselves lying on the warmth of the fine white sand beach when we awaken, tattooed in the telling shades of a Jamaican suntan.
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Submitted by hitalot on November 21, 2017

2:11 min read
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    "The Touch Of Her Hand" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 27 Oct. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/46423/the-touch-of-her-hand>.

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