A slippery slope

Stepping in, until our tip-toes don't touch, a few hours of grinding panties turns soapy in the shower.
Your sparkling lips touch another's breast plate, as I ready for a blurry slipstream, borne of our nocturnal, fuzzy intuition now into reality, frothy and warm.
I grow, ready to douse a pair of brightly blazing starlets, a milky way of nipples and a tangle of stars. I welcome her tongue tracing meteors, as I watch you descend, exploring the strange and studied calculus of a woman, and I quickly delve into the darkest of her mouth, burning through my inefficient fuel, the rocket aloft then into free fall.
I am then left to watch you lick her clitoris, humming an alphabet chorus into her beautiful, spiral rainbow cosmos. And spell out how it's been for you, without a feminine cushion for your head and taste in your cheek. I think slowly and grow firm in the offing.