As yet unrealized, the numbness seeps slowly back and to the left leaving Breasts gently, their rise and fall of silent shimmer.

Her voice left small and weak, as
Cool fingers trace figure eights in too hot flesh and
Hands tremble as her heart beats fast into history
Pink tongue moistening parched lips
And the fire burns in embers, ash not stirring.
Beating off to deep tones commanding
She comes undone softly, sweetly, openly.

Hushed now, the morning will turn
Cold and damp while coolness seeps
Into linens sweetly scented
Freesia.