Pillows, White Linen and Skyn

The morning has broken as they stir under the crispness of the white linen. The room is warm and quiet as my mind traces your spine with the tips of my fingers, your skyn glides to mine.  The warmth is soothing as I kiss your neck, my finger nails begin to chart a path from your calf that with little effort flows over your thigh, pelvis and advancing along your spine as our bodies tighten into one.

With some adjustment of pillows and linen I position with my back against the headboard sitting upright with my legs wide, you allow the white to slide from your bronze torso as you sit up and transition your back up against my chest. The warm air from the vintage fan circulates slowly as your head falls effortlessly against my shoulder. The mirror on the far wall picks up the smooth gleam you produce from the oil application a few short hours ago. You turn your head slightly as our lips meet in perfect unison, the raindrops of fresh oil fall softly over your chest.  Gravity forms the droplets into streams as they flow over chest , breast and nipple providing us with a morning dance that reflects in the mirror as a sunrise would breaking the height of land then piercing the stream at first light. . As the stream widens it encompasses your nipple and without touch it begins to fill with anticipation.