When Lights Are Low

I run my fingers through the silken tresses of her hair,

as eager eyes meet, I can hear the melody of our desire sing,

while candid, endearing thoughts pass between minds without speaking.

Fresh as the morning dew sparkling on an autumn morn,

a harmony of feminine splendor inundates her inner being.

A halo of need seems to hover above us, highlighting,

as a moonlight night, delicious and delightful, subtle

nuances of incredible feelings, that fill and spill over into our lives.

And in the early evening, when lights are low, and clothes are strewn

with careless abandon, I cultivate the precious petals of her flower.

Enticing the fluid of rapture as nightfall claims this world, its trials;

cannot abate the honey from flowing in a remarkable shower of

delirious desire and wanton lust, felt between us both;

our innocence forsaken in the throes of sensual delight,

delicate yet intense in it's discovery and deliverance.