Turn back the sheets and show yourself to me.
Let eyes caress the polished curve of hip
and trace the shadow of your breast, then slip
down to the dimple of your navel, free
to wander over silken, downy thigh,
to cup in thought and sight the bend of knee
and curve of ankle--watch, deliciously,
your pale skin flushing rose before my eye.
Then let me trace again, with hand and lip
those same contours, and test the boundary
of sense, where taste and touch and smell combine
with lust, imagination, memory;
Let me open you, kneel before you, sip
the nectar of desire, and make you mine.
1 comment:
I kind of painted myself into a corner with this one, trying to reuse the rhymes from the octave in the sestet. I like the idea, but the ending is admittedly clumsy. Still, there it is.
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