pristine soft flesh,
bronze undulations, and valleys edged
in foliage, silken shadows etched;
and each surface a redolent gift,
a sensory elegance,
breath drawn in sated bliss.
Hands trace curves and mounds,
each moment igniting salacious thoughts,
heart racing, three steps ahead,
as if time is irrelevant,
and breath alone determines fate,
passion driven to its highest,
most receptive state.
Eyes close in afferent awakening,
lost of life’s mundane countenance,
drifting weightless in tepid seas,
swirling, squirming, writhing flow,
each touch each kiss, deeper,
and desperate want just explodes from fear,
honed to release in a singular peace.
In a surge of ecstasy, silence reigns,
and hearts meld into one melodic refrain,
and minds empty, thoughts cease,
bodies surrendered and relent to sleep,
while love, like soft white clouds,
adorn passions sigh, and hover,
like a blanket, in dreams the souls to reap.
Tony DeLorger © 2017
Writing poetry is like bleeding,
all the life-giving nutrients that sustain us
are purged in light,
with every nuance and facet of thought,
congealed in the whole:
a deep red elixir of life,
rendered upon a page.