How she got here is not as important as her being here
He thought she would smash the fine china
Instead she had known
They always know
Had she known herself?
Tried to tame the uncontrollable
Afraid of her own carnal shadow
She dug in
The sweetly fragrant citrus peel unraveled
Neon and sticky against her skin
Under her manicured, glossy nails
How they met is not as important as the fact that they met
A birdsong was answered
A heat cry met
His young spirit and old soul
Why she chose him is not as important as the choice
His tank of a body and walls to climb
His decorated skin and pleading lips
His leather belt a distraction
Silk on her fine eyelashes
Rope on her wrists
He had to be sure
Would she curse caution?
Accept the offering
Open wide
Take possession
Savor its juices
Sliding down her throat
Down her core
She is all blind vision
How she got here is not as important as her being here
Hands tied, body free
Pliable, caressed skin
The orange slice wet along her lips
Tickled her ready tongue
Brought change to her senses
Eager
Anxious
Breathless
Starving
She devoured the fruit whole.
Via: https://www.lushstories.com/stories/love-poems/blind-vision