Thursday, December 15, 2011


You stand straight up like a statue,
So I expect a state like stone;
But I touch texture unworldly -
Precious as if it were only on loan.

You speak with a sparkle,
Rippling with rhythms so strange;
My ears can hear your soft songs
And I revel in reading your range.

You veer into my vision
And I see your beauty so clearly;
Yet my feeble old eyes must blink
To take in your splendour so nearly.

You come to me so fragrant
With a perfume like pleasant patchouli;
And I swoon to its enchantment
Lost in a lair so wild and unruly.

You always draw my famished mouth
To a precocious point where I can savour
Luxurious lips and petal-scaped skin
Rewarding my love, my lust and favour.

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