Through the lens
Lounging casually
Draped in a single garment
Sheer blue
Slipping off her shoulder
Designed negligence
And a string of pearls
For she is a lady
This vixen of delight
Who laughingly releases
Sexual tension.
The blush of her cheek
Feeling his unshaven face
Brush against soft skin
A confirmation
Of her femininity
Of his masculinity.
No one peers
Through the lens now
And the slip
Lays forgotten on the floor
The memory is stored
In the fingertips
Upon the lips
And deeply beneath the flesh
In a place only they
Know how to reach.
No comments:
Post a Comment