thighs

my hands travel in a general meander,
along a seemingly infinite stretch of your lonesome thighways.
the road to your pleasure. a trail of tears
that bear the mark of every disappointment
cut in human cuneiform on the warm and hidden
tablets that now are exposed to my scrutiny.
my touch. my kiss. the slow rub of finger and face
as I trace my road to heaven by your warm legs.
I wonder if any man or woman has dared to take
their time and show respect for the vulnerability
and passion you represent in such a moment.
I can feel the heat that radiates from within you
and hear the soft, hesitant mewling of your arousal.
I am not here to just take what I can and flee,
a highwayman here for the plunder, then to thunder
off and away to seek another vacant road.
I am here on my journey to you, to express my desire
and my wonder at the beauty of your soul and body.
my hands travel in a general meander,
but not my heart, it has mapped the course to you.
and when granted safe passage by whatever roads
I must travel, I will take them gladly, even as I now
take great pleasure in pleasing you, teasing you,
making you want me, perhaps, a little more
than before I laid hands and lips and words
upon your most delicious and elegant thighs.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.