Her body is his temple in which he devoutly worships every night.
His fingers trace lines across the supple curves of her pale, creamy flesh.
His lips devour her ripe, firm breasts, suckling and mewling as a babe.
He delves into the delicious fire found nestled between her thick sculpted thighs, tasting the Divine upon his tongue.
His hand beats out a priestly rhythm upon her perfect, round ass, a call to all its faithful followers, the ritual has begun.
And so he prostrates himself upon her altar, a goddess of pure art in motion, natural and unattainable to all but her High Priest.
The mesmerizing sway of her hips, her hair a messy shroud about her inked shoulders, her full lips drinking down his essence, reflecting back the Light of the moon and stars, perfect in every form.
His voice raises in crescendo, taken up with the incantation of her powerful ministrations.
The Wonder of her lavish Love washes over him until his own body releases in magnificent chorus and shouted hallelujahs.
Then he collapses in a heap, shaking uncontrolled, completely utterly spent, he rests upon her breast for he knows:
Tomorrow he’ll be back to worship in her sanctuary once again.
©️tara caribou – 2017