It was her 18th anniversary on
This planet and she was being caressed
For the very first time.
And with each caress
She realized she was the earth itself,
All valleys, and hills, and caves,
And the space between her teeth,
Warm, sweet and wet, was a world
Unto itself, the threshold to more,
To plus, to one and one makes two and
Yet one. And her back, a roller coaster
For tongues and hands to slide and bounce
on the firm melons of her buttocks,
Whose previous job description of
Providing cushioning for seats
Seemed now unfairly understated.
The moon was shining, painting her,
Appropriately enough, silver, for she had become
Mercurial, rising and falling with quasi mechanical
Precision, to the rhythm of the caress.
And there was ravaging and there was finesse;
And the motion of her hips was primeval,
Like the grunts from her throat, and she lost
Herself in the shakes until she forgot her name,
And she screamed, and she laughed, and
She thought she was having an asthma attack,
And then she floated in the warmth,
Something like bubbly, frothy milk,
And sank into a space where she cared for
And on her 18th anniversary on this earth
She lay, glowing and moistened, on his bed,
Sleeping soundly to the soft touch of the caress,
Her crumpled clothes thrown shambolically over his desk.