Altars Of Silk

04 Oct


Set upon by her form,
memory serves me well,
every curve imprinted,
and lips do not forget;
a whirlwind of her flesh,
blush, as I may, in wait,
each turn, another barter,
each kiss, another breath;
arms flow apart her gown,
shed wide to sweep the air,
another altar made of silk,
wherein, I dwell, serene;
she calls my swift undress,
as moonlight fills the sky,
with her undoing, I follow,
the silken altar falls away;
her kiss, a breathless sigh,
surely needful, yet unwieldy,
and I am without history,
lost to her, as if premiering;
no fire can surpass her hands,
seering into tenderest flesh,
she is a sea of wantonness,
so vast, no form may hold her;
yet in her undyielding caress,
my years are measured well,
the ages spent in her embrace,
with every moment savored,
to live our lives in this bliss,
each altar of silk, preserved.

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Posted by on October 4, 2015 in My Poetry



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