M22 M4F looking for females to talk

Whispered Hunger

I see her, poised, a woman of grace, Lines of wisdom etched softly on her face. Her eyes, like embers, burn through the air, Years in their depths, a mystery rare.

She moves with a rhythm I can’t define, Each step a secret, her body a shrine. Her voice is honey, low and deep, A melody that lulls me, yet won’t let me sleep.

Her laughter lingers, it curls, it bites, Stirring shadows in my restless nights. Every word she speaks is laced with heat, Each syllable tasting forbidden, sweet.

My youthful pulse races at her command, Ached to trace the veins of her tender hand. To know the stories her curves could tell, To drown in her scent, a warm, dark spell.

She’s seen more moons than I’ve kissed dreams, Her allure woven in shadowed seams. But I’m no boy, though she might say so, I crave the fire only she can show.

I’d worship her skin, her lips, her sighs, Drunk on the spark that flickers in her eyes. For age to me is no divide, She is the ocean; I, the tide.

So I watch, I wait, caught in her glow, A hunger no other could ever know. She is the storm, and I, the rain, Falling for her again and again.