77
MIDNIGHT
BOUQUET
i
lay
still
watching
her
my
desire
and
delight
while
she
covered
my
cock
in
chocolate
with
soft
silent
strokes-‐
like
Modigliani
painting
a
nude.
my
fingers
glistened
in
the
lamps
gloaming
light
with
the
scent
of
her
midnight
bouquet,
and
her
taste
still
swam
in
my
mouth.
soft
licks
now
tongue
tingling,
teasing
sucks
as
i
lie
with
head
thrown
back
and
drift
weightless
on
the
plateau
of
pure
pleasure
with
aurora
borealis
stroking
my
senses
waiting
for
the
rain.
By
Strider
Marcus
Jones