Erotic Poetry: A Duet

Over on AQConnect I belong to a crit group called Between the Sheets, which focuses on writing the best (read: least laughable) sex scenes possible.  Believe it or not, it's more difficult than it looks.  Another member, Max (blog here and website here) posted an erotic poem and offered a challenge for one of us ladies to write the counterpart from a woman's point of view.  This is what the two of us came up with:

Her
by Maxwell Cynn

Legs spread before me.
No flower so lovely as
the folds of her labia.
Her nectar glistening -
drops of honey in the morning sun.
The fragrant scent,
her velvet cunt calls me.
It fills my nostrils,
dances on the tip of my tongue.
There is nothing like
this heavenly musk.
Brine, acidic,
the pungent taste of passion.
The elixir of life,
flowing from inviting womb.
Her flesh is hot on my lips,
searing folds of carnal delight.
My tongue parts the Cleft of Venus,
curling against her excited clit,
cupping a thimble-full of her draught.
She moans
No sound so pleasing to the ear as this
The soft whisper of pleasure,
unsullied by words -
emotion given voice.
My senses reel,
overwhelmed.
Sight, sound, taste, and scent -
combine in an epiphany of Eros.
My tongue seeks her depths
hungry to be embraced by her.
She arches.
Her hips pressing upward
to meet my desire.
I bury my face in her,
enraptured by her need.
She shakes.
Her body given over,
controlled by primal passion.
A muffled cry -
silenced by clinched teeth.
Her fingers tangle in my hair -
pulling me to her.
She spasms.
All control is gone.
My pleasure equals her desire.
Her body contorts beneath me.
I suck eagerly
at her delicious clit.
A deep guttural cry and
she is consumed.
My body pours its seed
into the musty air
overcome by -
her.


Him
by J. Lea Lopez

He is poised
erect before me. I take
pleasure in soft skin that does not
betray the strength of his
cock, firm and yet vulnerable beneath my
fingertips. With my hands, I coax
him to his full length,
girth. Tonight I ignore the heat
of my Delta and bow my head in
worship of him, my phallic
idol. His contented sigh
deepens into a moan as my tongue snakes
down, around. Head,
corona,
shaft,
up again. Insistent
fingers tangled in my hair speak
of desire, of urgent
need.

My lips close around the tip
of him and suck
slowly, to the rhythm
of his breathing. He lifts
his hips, pressing deeper, seeking
more of my molten mouth and I open
to him, slide my lips ever downward, taking him
deep. My mouth constricts
around his cock, slides
up, slides
down, faster, harder. I am
consumed by the need to
consume him to the end. His lustful
groans are subdued, but the tension
in his hips - struggling against the urge to thrust
against me - tells of the frenzy
growing within. I am
relentless. He succumbs to my
mouth in a hot
flow. I lick
the salt from my
lips and savor the taste of
him.