The Beach Box

 

the grey skies had been threatening all day,

to release wrath upon Port Phillip Bay,

first drops caught us jogging along the beach,

before shelter of our beach box could we reach.

 

undoing padlocks before full force hits,

taking cover just before it plummets,

watching rain sweep in through the open doors,

heavy hammering on roof, as rain pours.

 

pulling your wet t-shirt over the head,

dropping upon wooden floor of the shed

feeling my sleek tongue trace round your navel,

once more those lusty impulses spiral.

 

grabbing your arm, pulling you towards me,

kissing your skin, you’re salty like the sea,

as my kisses rain down upon your chest

and eventually your nipples molest.

 

your breathing turns shallow, your knees feel weak,

my mouth enthrals with passionate technique,

sound of the rain is almost deafening,

as your manly ardour is strengthening.

 

stripping clothes, our passion matches the storm,

over my naked curves eager hands swarm,

as we tumble towards back of shed,

using beach towels as our makeshift bed,

 

biting and sucking nipples, feels so divine,

till both of them did glisteningly shine,

slowly kissing downward to my bare mound,

as rain on the tin roof, continues to pound.

 

my hands grip your head, as mouth covers slit,

parting those plump lips, finding that hard clit,

sucking and teasing, as my hips gyrate,

fingers pumping into me, at a fast rate.

 

wild guttural screams downed out by tempest,

and my language anything but modest,

as body tightens, then shakes in release,

then tightens again, as waves do increase.

 

lifting me up after I recover,

your hard body does my softness cover,

burying yourself in me to the hilt.

as even more of my juices are spilt.

 

slapping of flesh matches pounding of rain,

as my nails dig in your flesh and give pain,

passion builds as we vary the tempo,

pounding hard and fast, then stroking soft and slow.

 

your strong dark arms, supporting my splayed knees,

the rain upon the roof, drowning my pleas,

my back scraping against hard wooden walls,

with each thrust, my body rises and falls.

 

our mouths press and kiss with such urgency,

as my tremors increase their frequency,

and tight muscles round your cock convulses,

causing your seed to release in pulses.

 

holding on, as we just listen to the rain,

as control over our senses regain,

only as you slip out, once you soften

do we remember the doors are still open.

5 thoughts on “The Beach Box

  1. This being a season of many humid afternoons and midnights, when the warm rain thrums passionately against the panes, this poem spins a bewitching and believable narrative even if I’m reading alone and far from any beach!

    Like

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