His, Symphony of Dreams

grey, the morning of a new dawn
where chirping birds once annoyed
now soundless, the eerie comes to mind
sky turns black, day becomes night
she stares out and sees her Dark Knight
frozen she stands and closes her eyes
His breath vapors, she sighs
the words she hears filling her head
to lay on the bed
He opens her robe exposing her flesh
her breasts heave in a calming flow
like oceans waves in a never-ending allure
they sway up and down, to a beat, on the rise
He runs His hand from her lips to her core
the heat, melting her soul
she parts her legs her will is His
as He sees fit
her scent invades, His nostrils flare
His desire to devour, every ounce of her
His fingers dance upon her skin
playing a sonata, the intro, to His opera
He parts her folds budding with dew
enters her with one then two
she barely holds her composure
playing a note for His little flower
He strokes her insides, three fingers deep
a pulsating rhythm, the orchestra peaks
climbing and climbing, the climax is near
blood flows
veins pulse
her heart set aflame
as violins stand in frame
pounding, beating like drums that rattle and roll
tongue swelling from bites out of control
the passion of a song
cymbals clash long
lashed by His bow
her, the instrument of His choice
angels and demons together rejoice
as the Conductor beams
to His, symphony of dreams


17 thoughts on “His, Symphony of Dreams

  1. Lovely, building to a delightful crescendo. To be his instrument, as he orchestrates the symphony….it is a place of dreams, made real if we allow it.

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