Of her eyes, one can only wonder,
how vague in tender expression,
yet piercing in her gaze, is she;
in her eyes, my moves echoed,
from mere caress o’er her thighs,
to spittle that clings to my lips,
left in haste by her hungry kiss.
Of her flesh, undeniable in form,
as if gods painted silk upon her,
robust as a willow-nettled vale;
upon her flesh, waged from her,
or forms of a cloud by its design,
now amorphous in her awares,
rising with every offered breath.
Of her hand, in my tender grasp,
she now so willingly lends to me,
‘ere submitted flesh upon flesh;
that she has weight in her breath,
clinging to my gaze for acquiesce,
her unfettered abandon plays on,
as in a dream, so easily extolled.