The scent of you like fresh rain,
On the damp of cotton lace,
Orchestral strings of violins weep,
To a pool of touch and taste,
Sweet moans meet tender groans,
Gentle valleys of skin to play,
Flames of gold in candles low,
Burn hot to light our way,
Music flows around your face,
In a swishing sway of song,
Soft sounds of sax and strings,
Hands creeping softly along,
Our caress of whispers and kisses,
Entwined as one we move,
From head to toe, our fingers slow,
With nothing left to prove.
Ronald Whetsell's Creative Writing and Poetry Blog 