Walk with me…
…where roses have no thorns,
skipping passions through fleshy blades
of bedded grasses tickling naked feet
dancing kisses on tip-toe touches
fingers tracing smooth cheeks
handling chests and breasts
the hermitage of our hearts.
Run with me…
…through breezing sunshine glades
trailing desires through cloudless skies
of distant blue memories folded
in recesses of times gone past
those lazy days of burning desires
the aches of our inner thighs
the pleasures of our bodies.
Lay with me…
…where winter brings no death
strolling remembrances over rainbow
arches in darkened winter skies of grey
those colours swelling then parting
a mouth of fervent tongued needs
spoken with volumes of silence
the depths of our very souls.
© Annie McLean 08.02.01
