Feast

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Her scent is exotic and spicy.
I want to rub turmeric
into her dark lustrous skin,
and write my name in honey on her thigh.
She is my desert,
a feast
of warm and living woman in my hands.
I hold her
and tremble with want.
I care not for unscented flowers.
I want luxuriant blooms
with heady perfume.
I touch the silky
skin
just behind her knee
and press a kiss to her quivering belly.

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4 Comments
dominateme1dominateme1over 15 years ago
Oh So Nice

Your poetry is so lovely. A person could melt right into it!

KOLKOREKOLKOREover 15 years ago
on the verge of a blissful sensory overload...

Such an intense attack on a person's senses could lead to a total sensory overload or a screaming meltdown, but you do it so well, I just want to beg - more...

oregon_galoregon_galover 15 years ago
i can smell

the frangrance from this one! nicely done!

LeBrozLeBrozover 15 years ago
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This poem has been selected for listing in Wednesday's New Poems Review.<br>

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