Wednesday, April 17, 2013

fleur de l'amour


Her skin so smooth, so supple,
so fresh, is cloaked in swathes
of browns and pinks and translucent nails
on her fingertips,
all so brittle so little, so right for me,
to look at with my browns and blacks and broad angled shoulders
that fit with hers like cogs in a wheel.
Her almond-shaped eyes so cute, so brown
so deep, I waded in their still waters
and lost myself to the magic
that is her and her and her.
Her whites so milky, so clear,
so pure, no wonder my fears all disappear.
Her hair so silky, so long,
it swirls like wind and smells like earth after long-awaited rain.
Her voice so gentle, so sultry,
so soft,  a Siren, she purrs
A sing-song of a thousand bells ringing from afar
Her being so close, Oh God!
So close, It’s so right
So heady with scents of bees, and babies
Of flowers and soap
With a pinch of her sweat and
Unrestrained desire
That wafts through the mists
And stabs through the fogs
She claims me for hers.

2 comments:

Lynn Gerrard said...

Your beautiful words transport me upon a silken cloud to a world of such delicate purity...that I am always reluctant to leave....
A truly outstanding piece...I envy your talent, my friend...x

Son of A Gun said...

I am so glad you like it, Lynn :) Thank you.

 

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