His Goatee

Dark appeal encircles his lips,
beckoning my fingertips.
My arms burn with a physical aching
as I force myself to continue waiting.
From across the room, I spy him walking
and devour every second he spends talking.
His lips part in fiery motions,
filling my thoughts with erotic notions,
freeing my mind to drift and daydream,
fantasies of strawberries and whip cream
leaping to life as I watch his mouth.
A scorching trail surges south--
his imaginary lips kissing past my belly,
the tickle of his goatee fuel me,
igniting a fire that spreads and consumes me.
Flames too hot, now, to try to forget,
a roaring heat that leaves me wet.
A pulsing tremble flows between my thighs.
I quake gently, seeking his eyes,
biting back pillowy moans and sighs,
and thoughts of us sharing erotic cries.
Coming in secret, I seek his eyes once more
but fail as miserably as before,
my own eyes remaining on his dark appeal,
this moment in time frozen; surreal.
This man, he holds such power over me
with the magnetism of his goatee.