Clearing a path

She's waiting for you.
She's always there,
waiting for you.
Tiny and naked,
arousing and aroused.
This time she stands on the edge of the shovel,
naked and hot
in the sun and the snow,
perched on the edge,
daring you to ignore her.
Droplets of desire run down her leg.
Sizzling, they hit the ground,
leaving a landscape of
cylindrical tunnels
straight to the sidewalk below.
Pick her up.
Remove your gloves.
Run your smallest finger
between her trembling legs.
Walk down the path to the street,
the high priest of lust, shaking
his censer of desperate need,
melting the snow with the
liquid that boils from her cunt.
When you get to the end,
the snow is gone.
All that remains is a trail of green,
and roses that bloom
where once there were none.


Written for my sadistic Master
and posted here with his permission.