( scene 1 )
Across the table our hostess sits
with painted eyes and fingertips
a bowl of fruit she offers.
Fruicious fresh and wet against my lips
the sticky flesh of the kiwi slips
inside my mouth and thus,
begins a fantasy that twins with my desire
to taste the succulence required
to nourish passion and inspire
the secret glance that warms us both
and sweetly curves the lips that
smiled and sought the kiss that
brought the wet and sticky bliss of the
kiwi on our lips that came together on short notice
and stayed that way much longer,
in the kitchen, after dinner, on an Easter Sunday,
when no one else was there to see.
Footsteps in the hall
we fly apart and that is all
but for the twinkle in her eye
and the smile I try to hide
and the flavor of the fruit that
hopes to happen bye and bye
fruicious fresh and wet,
when no one else is there to see.
A Wise Dragon Goeth Not Unarmed in the Land of the Make Believers.
Last edited by JP_Inkswell; 12-30-2017 at 07:12 PM..