By Echolocation
Date: 8 September 2000
Politically Incorrect (A Sonnet)
He saunters in amid a humdrum day
Caught off guard I feel my cheeks flush rose
Raising my eyes, I cannot look away
His voice sends shivers to my very toes
A dark-eyed gaze, a slow brush of fingers
yields a pleasure so sharp almost it pains
the hot rush of blood as his touch lingers
flows slow and sweet as honey through my veins
I close my eyes and in my wanton dreams:
gently demanding, his lips warm on mine
his hands light wildfire on my skin; it seems
there in our kiss we taste the sweetest wine
the tide recedes until the next time, then
he happens to me all over again
Back to the Heart-on-Sleeve Corner