A Muse in a Marsh

Where do Muses’ play?  Playful and full of mystery .. sensuous and seductive where they lay .. dreaming of games with soulful seeds planted about them .. growing sexual needs .. deep inside.

When a flower blossoms in a garden, hidden in a secret valley, warm wet and waiting to be plucked by tender fingertips and held near the nose for the breath of teasing kisses, the bed of the purple orchid is revealed to the light of day and the land is plowed and turned gently by a lover’s pink tongue.   A rain of whispers covers a melting moan.  A groaning thunder trembles the strength of her supple thighs and glances glimpse the lust held captive in searching eyes that lock in passing moments, to her lover’s, then fall back into the folly of her fantasies. 

As she is nurtured with tortured touches, her spirit rouses her.  She fights to hold longer on a yielding edge that promises to consume her if she surrenders. The pushing and prodding of pleasure pilfered in to and from her relentlessly, punkers her nipples, once tender and soft .. and her limbs, once bent .. rise rigidly erect and aloft.     Delicate toes, tasty morsels .. curl like a fist, palms that held hair, now grind linen in a twist and pound with her heart as she sails high in the air .. over the edge .. over the edge ..  

"..and now it’s YOUR turn", she said ..