Thy Cup Runneth Over

Thy Cup Runneth Over
(A Sonnette)

I worship at the mound, my senses filled
With musky Goddess warmth and slipp’ry taste
You shiver, shout, and in orgasmic haste
Your holy water from within is spilled.

We cuddle, spent, while candle flickers show
How chin to brow, I with your essence glow
My body blessed by your baptismal flow.

— Stace Johnson, 2006


You press my head into your breast, my tongue
Pulls in a little more. Your nipples send
A shiver to the center of your core.

My lips move down, I taste your nectar, wet
And warm between your lips. I lick your clit
And when you gasp I ride your writhing hips.
You arch your back and thrust your mound against
My wet and eager face. Your cries subside as I
Slide up to share with you your taste.
We kiss beneath an ethereal mist;
Our love is why the ether can exist.

You taste your juices on my tongue and kiss
Me deeply, hard and long. You wrap your legs
Around my waist and pull me to you, strong.
I slide inside you, smooth and deep, as far
Inside as I can be. You moan and tell
Me, “Fuck me!”, in your eyes, intensity.
As I explode inside you with a squeal,
The mist above turns into something real.

We love on many levels; it reflects
Into the worlds above. The Being born
Of mist becomes an offspring of our love.

— Stace Johnson, 2006



My fingers trace your landscape
From neck to thigh,
Your back a rolling plain
In the image of Gaia.

You are the Mother in microcosm.
I am the all-encompassing Aleph.

Electric shivers when we touch
Wake passion in the bones of the world.

— Stace Johnson, 2004