Skin

The skin on skin contact first thing in the morn,
When sunlight slips through curtain slits in all that I adorn.
Hand creeps down past my naval, my hips they do a'crest,
The hardness in my nipples appears to decorate my breasts.
My neck tilts back, a little moan emerges from my mouth,
These hands gently glide around my mound immediately to the south.
My limbs, they part, and the hand buried two members deep inside,
Exploring my inner being, gentle as they pry.
Slow and steady,my legs go tense and the feeling I can't control...

I love the mornings on my own, when I can play solo.