KESSLING

KESSLING ( a poem by Stardust 8937 --9-29-100

You tell me I can rub my fingers--

my palms--

on, through, and over

your soft, jet-black,

almost fur--hair..

And caress, touch,

hold onto your shaped head

like an EXQUISITE vase,

and finger your ears like the handles

on THAT priceless vase

and smell the LILACS in the vase of your being.

You excite me with your youth and your beauty.

In all that's HOLY

how can I, as old and gnarled

as a crooked desert Mesquite

and as selfish and conniving

as a desert Wolf

stroke the curve of your neck

the sweep of your chin,

the hard nipples of your breast,

to bring you to fruition--

As your lips, tongue and mouth

do for me?

What I would instantly do for you...

I have no thought of what you see in me.

Just enjoy the craziness

as I have learned to do with many

mysteries

that carry me beyond

the power of thought.

Does one more mystery make a difference?

The mystery of your strange attachment to me?

Take me then with your fingers

and your mouth

and at the finish stand against me

proud and nude with your eyes closed

and the center of your being far away

in some distant past,

wrapped in some distant memory.

Trembling in a ecstasy of thought

stronger than a probing tongue

or plunging fingers

and shiver against my naked body

and ask me, in a whisper against my ear,

ask ME to tell YOU,

ask me to tell you over and over,

that you did me good.

You did me good.

Until you waken somehow fulfilled

by what you did for me...

"Oh, you did me good--

You did me good, beautiful woman,

beautiful baby..."