The Senses

September 20, 2004

Sinuous drops that trickle
Slowly, sensuously
Down coffee-scented skin
To drip, with reluctance,
Onto an Oriental softness;
And such,
I assure you,
Is the dubious glory of sin.

The silkiness of breath
Tracing a lazy pattern
On a honeyed back,
Becoming shallow and rapid
On chancing upon
An engaging curve
That hides in its shadows
All that the heavens lack.

The rise and fall of breasts
Taut with aching need
That effect a feline arch
And fit into the hollow
Of your cupped palms;
They fill you with a longing
To tease your tormentor
And with a breath, scorch.

Lingering behind closed lids
The faint traces of lust
That ambushed your sanity,
The musky scent of desire
And a full citrus blend
Speak of passion unbridled
Given rein to explore
A moment’s impetuosity.

Soft whispers in my eyes
That hold your gaze
In an intense sexual appeal,
Moving you in ancient ways
To hold my body close
As we quiver in awareness
Of the depths of desire
And the heat of molten steel.

When our breathing mingles
And our bodies are entwined
Every fibre of my being
Is aflame with the perception
Of eternal love in a snowflake,
Your fingers splayed on my waist
In proprietorial custody—
And believing is, eventually, seeing.


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