The Lovely Lynda

She is silver,
with cashmere caressing
silken skin,
touching me deeply
with oceanic eyes.
Mercedes sexy
driving executive flair
her mercury lips
glistening an invitation.

She is red,
inciting riots
of chemical flames,
taunting me expectantly
with pleading whispers
like molten iron
flowing into my soul
with the sun rising
through the faint mist of morning.

She is black,
bathed in the shadows
of a midnight moon,
tempting me softly
with songs of the forest.
Poetic curves
in the depths of darkness,
a pathway, a beacon
drawing me in.

She is golden,
Aphrodite's sister,
kissed by Apollo
in a chariot of fire,
calling me silently
across the heavens
and the endless miles
to the sands of the Seychelles
and the bliss of her bed.