Whisper

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In candlelight she bathes
Like a goddess sculpted too perfectly to touch
Water drops caress gleaming contours of her bronze flesh
The trail of her hand is a slow motion dream
Her fingers graze the face of the one who kneels before her in worship
A sensuous touch glides into a firm grip
Angling upwards her subject's face
Her grasp is a STAB of vivid breathlessness
Nonchalantly she gazes down into spellbound eyes
Her lips part, like petals of a blossoming orchid
"Drink of me..." she whispers

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