Vagus Nerve

So yeah, I told you all a while ago that I was submitting to the Vegas Nerve, which is this little magazine that UNLV and the Community College get together and do every year.  Anyway, I said that if I got it in the magazine, I'd show you all the poem.  Mine was the last piece of writing in the whole book followed by one LARGE photo of Yosemite taken by my friend Louie.  If you're wondering about some of the word choices or the line breaks, this poem is in iambic pentameter, so I had to do it that way.  :P  Here's the poem:

Soft Morning Sunday

You laid me on the pillowcase. Your touch,
So soft. The tips of fingers down the side
Of my right breast. It makes my nipples hard.
Your face pressed deep into my neck. I turn
My head and welcome your impetus.
My plump, pink lips suppress a tickled smile.
We breathe each other deeply taking in
All scents, and touches arbitrarily
Placed yet feel so perfect. Heating breath,
And movement make my cheeks more pink. Brown eyes
Illuminate lunar-white skin. My hair
Gets mussed and tossed then brushed away by hands,
Your hands that see and touch and taste through tips.
They learn, remember, never to forget
What makes me twitch. I look into your face,
That gorgeous face I know so very well:
The lines that mark your smiles and your frowns,
Those brows that furrow when you think too much,
That nose that some would call a size too big.
I love it all. You dig your fingers deep
Into my hips; I run my nails slowly
Down your back; We close our eyes and choke
Back sounds unable to express. And when
The trembling subsides, we both collapse,
And smile with a sigh. Together lie
With gasps and whispers -- eventually we sleep.