Tree Trimmer

A Collab

Longing tugs me to the fence to watch you
as you trim the towering oak tree in your yard.
Your skin is molasses silk wet with your sweat.
Your arms are strong, confident, the muscles hard.

Those forbidden thoughts of you
doodling in my mind makes me wish
as I trim this tree hoping against hope
there was a way you could be my dish.   

It’s a hot day in August, you remove your shirt
as if you are unaware of the eyes that drink you in.
Too shy to tell you how you bring my body alive.
Or the thoughts I think, wishing they were not sin.  

I believe I can see you peeping;
damn, would be good to get a closer view.
Hell's doors are wide open but I don't care
would love to wrap my arms around you.  

Those hands that hold the tree saw are competent,
oh, if only those hands knew I wanted you to trim me.
I ache to feel them on my body in each and every place,
suddenly I am hot with desire and wish I were a tree.  

I could lay my hands on you and slide them
to every lusty part while my body screams out.
If only you were this tree I'd trim you so good
making desire bring passions to a loud shout.
 
Would you strip me the same way you strip excess bark,
or would your movements slow to a maddening pace.
Grinning you would unbutton my gingham blouse so proper,
only to find that beneath, I am sliding in black silk and lace.  

Oh, wouldn't I love to undo that top to see
just how much is there to wallow in and caress
while learning the surprises you have hid
would drive my desires to lavish all the rest.  

As if you are aware of my presence, you glance my way,
wink and wipe the sweat from your face as you approach.
Those arms rest on the fence top, those eyes invite me
to play naughty games, and we won’t need a coach. . .  

I'm going to look your way to see if you notice.
Then as I make my last jump from this tree
gonna walk over to you in hopes you don't reject
the thoughts I have harbored for you and me.  

You come around to my yard, to the wide swing where I sit,
sink beside me onto plush cushions, pushing me down slow.
Your tongue explores, starting with pulsing thrusts of a kiss.
You tease and tantalize, tasting every inch of me, head to toe.  

I'm going to chance it and see if the lust I hoped for
is as fresh in her eyes the way it has been in mine.
Without a word I slouch right next to you an embrace
thinking to hell with that tree do it another time.  

That old tree can wait another day, my needs are urgent
as I spread myself open for you to savor and arouse my skin.
You are hard as that tree, quivering flesh eager to plunge
into me, ride my rhythm, not once but oh, again and again.  

I'm running my tongue over you, dragging teasingly
till we both are as a sweaty hillside draining like Spring rain.
And as our quivering bodies succumb to the need to be blessed
we ride the tide of passionate lust over and over again.
 

 Dancin With Wolves 2006 Jan

Del Cano 2006 Jan