Harris Coverley

The Bath’s Edge

I wander into the bathroom
and you’re bathing
the white crackling froth of the foam
your short curled brown hair dampened
your face liberated totally of makeup
patches of vulcan red between
your regular skin
white as the inner flesh of a ripe plum

and you grin
beneath those solid blue irises
and I lean in
and kiss that smooth forehead

and you are so perfectly innocent
and free
within that happy primal water

your small breasts relaxing
above the hot murk
your immaculate cunt invisible 
your toes arisen at the water’s far end
poking out like eager spectators

and I feel your hand going up my thigh
that purple nail polish flaked and dulled
and you get to my zip
and zup it down

“do it…I do want it”

and you pull out my cock
already thick with simmering blood
and you take the head in your mouth
that burning tongue
and swallow it whole
down the whole
back and back

and I feel your hair
and you cradle my balls
with the initial hand
as your other hand
retreats beneath the waterline
to stroke your clitoris
so sweet
so tender
so bloomed
so good
and I think of it so: a fruit on the tree
begging to be picked

and I cry your name
with a single tear of pleasure
driving down my cheek
my spine snapping
my shins raw and angry against the bath’s edge
as I rush into your mouth
too fast
so fast
I could not dare to hold it

and you choke a little
and pull back

you pipe my cum into your palm
looking at it with such wondrous kindness
and suck it back up
between those pale lips
which then smile so graciously

it is gone
a quick breakfast

and I have never been in love like this
within any second I have ever before existed

I kiss your lips still salty
and then each soapy soft nipple
worshipping each breast of yours in turn

I wipe down my cock
and leave you to soak
as you put the hot tap back on
in for a long set

it is only eight-thirty in the morning
and I already know that the rest of the day
will be as beautiful
as you

and even if it isn’t
it doesn’t matter.

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