You said my eyes were the night,an inky dark you could safely swim in,yours are akin to the silver moon,the everlasting radiant night drawing near.Before you even touch,all I sense is the tension,a palpable electric essence,the proximity is sweetly torturous,but you are not made of stone. You want to see how much we can take, where our thresholds will truly lie. It begins and will end with a featherlight touch, you draw softly on this bare skin, leaving me branded Keçiören Escort beneathwith intricate, invisible cursive lines,mysterious calligraphy finally made flesh Until I finally break…Your veins bound against my tongue,neck exposed and beyond vulnerable,as fingers disappear between wet foldsto know where your true pulse quickens, I only pause when you get close. To near such an exquisite Etimesgut Escort edge, only to have it so suddenly torn away, to see your eyes pleading and know that you are not made of stone. Before you even take me, all I feel is the tension, a palpable electric essence as I’m devoured by the animaltasting my needy flesh. You no longer fight the impulse to pull me deep into your hot throat, tongue Demetevler Escort encircling this throbbing headin the shape of your own name, seeing how much it can take, where my threshold will truly lie. It begins and will end with a featherlight touch, a tongue lapping a hard bare length until I can’t fight the inevitable explosion, a thumb caressing the smallest bud in the shape of your own name, a beautiful signature coated in wetness to make a river of nectar finally pour…. We are not made of stone. The world calms in featherlight touches,fingertips draw along skin still quivering, invisible ink signing where pulses bound, mysterious calligraphy soothing flesh. You said there are galaxies in my eyesthat have become a dancing flame, if yours are the glowing moon, together we make a beautiful eclipse.