Thursday, June 27, 2013

The French

No stir in her heart, no stir in her soul
Mysterious, she was still as she could be
Fine and divine, she stripped me down with her perilous love
On a buoy in the storm sinking me in confessions of her actions
Floating and swinging in the sweat of her perfume, a pleasant reaction

Her lips rose from above, an introduction of the French

Robed in snowy white, that loosely flew from left to right
The leaves upon her falling light, as we tossed in tongues and turned in delight
Found our needs without seeking trust
We robbed each other's love to harvest our lustful hearts
With clasping arms and cautioning lips, tingling cheeks and finger tips

We dawned with the sound of doves
As pleasure flowed through the midst of our hearts
So deep, we had become drunk of rejoicing wine
Singing and dancing to the ballad of the rhythm and blues
Imprisoning each other in our eyes as we tied tongues in knots through the night

Morning rose as the sun in heaven was shining gay
All in the blue unclouded weather, upon a hammock we lay
Birds chirping as they wheeled with joyous in their sound
The day was chill, the forest bare, and the fragrance pure from her lovely cheek
There was no wind in the air to remove the scent she wore