Lover

In the realm where words dare not tread,
A dance of senses, unspoken thread.
A symphony of whispers, soft and low,
The tale of pleasure begins to grow.

A gentle breeze, a quiver of leaves,
Stirring the senses, as passion weaves.
A subtle touch, a brush of skin,
Igniting embers deep within.

A distant rumble, thunder's call,
Echoing desires, hearts enthrall.
A flickering flame, a spark ignites,
As bodies intertwine, in secret rites.

The rhythm quickens, a pulsing beat,
Like waves crashing upon the shore's retreat.
A symphony of sighs, a melody untamed,
As pleasure's tendrils, softly inflamed.

A whispered moan, a gasp released,
The crescendo builds, passion unleashed.
Like a river rushing, fierce and wild,
The climax nears, desires compiled.

And in that moment, when bodies unite,
Explosions of ecstasy, blinding light.
A supernova of pleasure, intense and pure,
As the orgasm erupts, the senses endure.

Yet, in this poem, I tread with care,
Using words that hint, but never declare.
For pleasure's journey, intimate and deep,
Is an experience, that words can't fully keep.