/lit/ - Literature

>post your Valentines Day prose

I want to passionately and fiercely make love to Emily. I want to find myself in throes of desperate fulfillment of a paramount physical craving for the flavors, caresses and aromas of another, like an animalistic hankering for the relief of an agony, this agony being the desire in itself. I want to make love to her in a full body contact, face-to-face position, tongue kissing all the while, purposefully throwing myself adrift in an overwhelming delectable cocktail of sensory stimulations, bewildering the senses in the fragrances of her feminine nectarous perfumes in contact with the essential smell of her skin, now ever so softly dampened in aspects of perspiration that soon smoothly evolves into transparent droplets of dew that leak down her neck and forehead, which I lick like a hungry animal only to absorb the stunning saltiness thereof like it's nothing. The communing contact with her alabaster laiche colored skin, like an alleviating balm of body heat that boils into a fever, a silk that extends through the senses, as my palms run her back and the sides of her body, up her stomach and skinny ribs to encounter he modest, soft breasts that I squeeze gently, focusing on stimulating the underside of each of them with the fingers, generating a muffled moan within the melting flesh that turns liquid in the conjunction of our tongue tangled mouths.