She sits there like my tea cup upon it's saucer.
Smooth white skin decorated with vines
In green and silver.
She sits there like my tea cup, filled with a
Liquid heat needing to be consumed.
She sits there like my tea cup until,
With my grasping hand I tilt her
Mouth towards mine.
A gasp. A savoring.
She sits there like my tea cup waiting,
Waiting for my lips to go deeper,
Lower than her brim.
I cradle her like my tea cup with one hand holding
A side and the other caressing and kneading,
All to drink the better.
Not bitter. Like honey. Like roses.
When we are emptied of giving, both flushed
With spent passion,
I hold her like my tea cup.