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- Erotic Poetry
- Work-worn Hands
Poem Info
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The taste of her
fragrance
lingered
upon your smile:
Molten silver and rosepetal.
The feel of her
at the exact moment
inhibitions
dropped.
Eyes felt the hush
of silk
slide from a vesuvian shoulder,
the escaped moan
a signal
for pleasures surrender.
Your very soul surged to meet.
Yet, you
held
back
the animal urge inside-
your nature-
to allow the grace of her
to blossom
slowly...
let ecstacy pour
into the familiar house
of your work-worn hands.
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