Passion and Heat of Sex Between Men
When I enter him
Although I do not consider myself a poet, I sometimes use the form to set something inside myself free and let it catch fire. Prism & Pen’s current “I Like it Hot” prompt seemed like the perfect time to set this memory to verse, even if undisciplined verse.
I taste the slow burn of passion that builds from caresses, to kisses, to more and more urgent explorations.
I taste the sweet, gentle, salty heat of intertwining with my lover. Hands, mouths, teeth, expanses of electric skin, and urgent, rigid, pulsating pressure.
I love losing where my body stops and his begins. I love needing to merge into him, consuming and fulfilling at once.
I burn when I start to enter him and discover again that surprising heat. That consuming fire.
I burn with his moans and his trembling, the waves of passion passing from his body to mine and back again, and again, and again, sympathetic oscillations.
I taste the rhythm of it. On and on and on.
He bucks into me and his pleasure becomes mine as heat builds and envelops us like a warm blanket, like the sultriness of a sleeping bag in winter as we rock back and forth and again and again and again until the fire of his passion is lava in my hand and my own heat spills and spills and spills as we relax into a glow of fierce but fading embers.
I taste impending loss as we begin to doze, each still part of the other, two lovers intertwined and connected who wish never to part.
This story is a response to Prism & Pen’s writing prompt I Like It Hot!