PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I am a crescent moon writer, caught

within the poetic cradle of her incessant

curiosity, balanced like a frolicking seesaw

on the fulcrum of a woman’s multihued

willingness to risk it all, and play

Inaudible the wedding bells, perhaps

children are gone, emotions drowning

beneath trepidation of past relationships,

as we swim to change the receding tides

of our timeworn, sequestered hearts

Yet salty water has faulted my abating -

nous of smell, exiled into oblivion; I will

never sniff her wet world, nor any piquant

perspiration riding beneath the brown

wavy hairs guarding her pubic palace

Just fantasy show jumping a lower whiff

to capture a gender slowly, as imagination

encourages our possible allied showers,

full body essence from seductive vibrations

neighboring her washed tresses I so envy

All I want to do is touch it, what lies

between her girlish pelvic embankment,

although she loathes in burning bundles

certain parts of me. A naughty bitch I do

adore, tweaking my last chest hairs

She has the locks of a Southern Belle

and her eyes – lips, make me stir into

puddle-pants delightful, pitching to erect

a celibate mummy, still, she knows not

that my erotic visions will pillage nipples

feeding her strongly prolific, lyrical life.