Ah, the swoosh
of your dress
gliding off you,
finding the floor!
It pools black
and elegant
at my feet,
an entrancing
erotic puddle.
But I
cannot look.
Nothing between
us now but
silk and flesh,
my hands
and fingers
have become
the only eyes
I have,
the only eyes
I need.
Your soft
yielding skin
offers
all the seeing
and knowing
they crave.
Love,
let them
look closely
and discover
the delicious
details
of the world
you are.
This seeing
transforms lust
into magic,
makes
a ceremony
of desire.
It can lift us
off the earth.
Soar with me.
Touch me
like the sound
of that black dress,
falling.
What more
is necessary?
- mce
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What a wonderfully sensually palpable piece my friend
ReplyDeleteThank you, Ms Asphodel. Others have not been so kind. I was beginning to think I had offended half of humanity with this poem. :)
ReplyDeleteThey're jealous, Mike. They wish to be the object of such a poem. That's my guess...
ReplyDeleteIt's a mystery to me and, no doubt, will remain so. The erotic is its own world. The political shouldn't intrude on it. MHO. And, political correctness is the epitome of boring...
ReplyDelete