Free Verse # 334 (cet infini poème)

Autumn leaves
tucked in her brown hair,
flowers strewn
amid the pages of a book,
a forest of perfume
intimately sleeping
in the worded grass.


In late autumn
her areolas
are two ripe figs
on my lips bursting
with the liquid heat of summer,
a crimson universe
brimming with stars.


On your windowsill
the raindrops gather
in puddles of pitter-patter,
birds of fiery feathers
singing into your room
the voice of my longing.


In the misted morning
my thoughts sway to you
like a bare branch shivering
against the gray sky


Those patterns coursing
the length of her lips,
little nooks and crannies
at each exhale
molding the air
into sensual poetry.


Son corps
une mer étoilée
et moi
un navire enivré
navigant le long
de cet infini poème


He placed his mouth on hers
and played her soul like a flute,
her body through its pores weeping
the fires of pure longing.


Her lush lips
a suave erotica
wet with red ache
to have his fullness
throbbing inside.


On her tongue
my fingers burn,
honed flames
aching to go inside.


At dawn you wake,
the imprint
of my hands and lips
all over your body,
an earth soaked
in the dew of longing.

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