Free Verse # 88

Your love,
a lightning insatiably
licking at my skin.


With soft lips
you press your poems
like seeds into my skin,
and then you breathe,
and lo!, each seed is a flower
singing fragrant praise.


Her breath seeps,
a wet, silver veil
teeming with
burning stars.


Naught is there to life but this…

My love,
we are eternal wanderers
casting our sail
between the moon and sun,
through the sea of stars.

Each night
our loving embrace
is an oasis,
a tender desert flower
filling up with ecstasy
and dancing
until the break of dawn.

A Burning Flower

I plant you in my inmost garden
where each poem is a flower
sighing powdered lust,
fine grains burning slowly
craving to sink in the flesh of desire.

The water in your womb flows,
your pores, like crimson, swollen lips
exude erotic musk,
a wetness calling all the heat
to invade the depth of your rosy flesh,
and you inhale, hard and deep,
an air so dense it burns
in your throat and lungs,
seeping like liquid fire in your veins,
becoming yourself a burning flower
swaying to the music of my flute,
shivering with ecstasy at my tender touch.

Exhale now, my love…