I never quite grasped the concept of erotic frisson 
until we collided; 
as shafts of wheat blowing in the wind, 
mood of a paling moon 
and white soft petals falling from a tree– 
believe me, when I tell you  
that presence 
persuades a breath of ease, 
while body is led to explore a myriad of emotions 
otherwise lost in thought. 

Pretty in red, I climb into the folds  
of bed, 
feel the satin sheets burn and dare myself 
to address what’s in my head, 
it’s easier to let go of inhibitions, 
once you have understood  
desire and plunged into its depths– 
he is Eros incarnate, 
willing to kiss novels in the soft of my back. 

And now, I am as though a pomegranate  
cut in half 
and spilled into his hands, 
a residue of coition, to state, if I am  
to be bold, 
I slip on a dress, and make do with  
what’s left of consciousness, 
this act of  
sensual abandon is both gentle and commanding– 

And yet, somehow, one arrives at a 
sweet conclusion; 
in a setting  
that if lit by morning, would rouse even 
the most stoic of souls, 
let go, 
yes, let go of this measured sestet  
of control, 
he is quiet musings of a dream unfinished– 
I think of him every second. 



Photo Credits: Pinterest 

Posted for Open Link Night #359 @dVerse Poets Pub