Amsterdam

Erotic Poetry

The chill of the canal house fades,
you lean me against a heavy oak door locked in place 
the night shadows dance  
amber-tinted greys richochet
not quite a thousand shades 
almost 
this Amsterdam air is so liberal. 

and you deliberately tease 
lift my chin with light fingers 
the moisture in the canal air lingers 
you lick my lips 
as if to taste my soul, taste the breeze 
and then you squeeze 
and press me against that wall
just a little more 
I feel my breasts scream 
against your shirted chest 
I run my hands underneath 
my fingers burn as though your back is hot, 
its not, they’re simply hungry for touch

as air turns velvet in the quiet space.
you breathe on my neck 
and it ignites me 
you take your sweet time
to entrance me
a slow burn and heavy grace 
history and otherworldliness 
spilling out of the cracks
and its sounds like your sounds
it all arouses me

you lean in closer, 
strip the cold away
sandwiched between you and the oak door 
I dream of you lying me down 
parquet floor calling 
pressing my face to the boards 
plying me open

how I like it 
to feel the power of your passionate rage
unapologetically 
squeezing me, pouring life into me 
but gently yet very intentionally 
drawing the air from my lungs 

you open me up, then take me  
consume me, muse me, exhume me
art is a ride, drag me through 
that ring of fire with you, 

your hands mapping the contours of my face 
like your learning it 

whispers are spoken against my skin,
your kiss that tastes of espresso and beer
the quiet hum of trouble sinking in,
the boat that keeps whirring
engines churning 
streetlights through the arched glass gently disappearing
your body is pressed to mine so deliberately near 
every lingering doubt turned into a desire
not fear, now raging, your mesmorising
so engaging  

outside, 
dark canal boats glide on 
unknowing of the heat that warms the room 
our hips align beneath the open sky
falling down on the ground 
half clothed, intensity grows 
our whispers break stillness 
ripple the waters with reflections 
simply bound together in travel 
a pulse of rain and city smog 
dark perfume 
nowhere left to run and no reason why

the night unfolds 
a slow, delicious bloom
that makes me cry in pleasure 
for some things are to be savoured
some remembered 
and some things need to be tempered
but not this particular night 
this is about surrender 
the fire and embers 
of two souls on an adventure 
not always together 
but deeply touched whenever 
they meet in reverence and lust