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By gardenpoet Date: 2003 Sep 24 Comment on this Work [[2003.09.24.20.08.20032]] |
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The top of a silky robe slides smoothly from your shoulder to reveal skin that rivals the moonlight, an imperceptibly smooth blend of burnished gold and alabaster. A slight twist of your head, a shake of honeyed hair, shows me exquisite ears more beautiful than the loveliest of seashells. Your shoulder blades come uncovered -- as the robe slips slowly downward -- and I am in awe of the sculpted edges, so feminine, so elegant and precise yet so physically commanding. The lines of your back flow into curves, (my mind's hands trace them every moment of the day) each bend too beautiful, too faultless for words In raw words: ya got the hips, babe! A touch lower and the robe no longer veils Your ass Your rump Your bottom Your gluteus beauteous maximus yet minimus, Your fanny, my treasured prize. The finest sculpture on earth, your derriere, Now bejeweled with the lines the immodest sun has made in the skimpiest fashion, announcing you are passionate, electrifying, and totally, unreservedly, unabashedly sexy sexy sexy. I shudder, as the robe continues its trickle to expose now that area of sumptuousness where legs of sleek flesh meet a sensual roundness artists only dream of duplicating. Ah yes, a peek of groomed wondrous rapture, too, delights the senses when you bow forward. A dancer, I knew once, would want YOUR legs -- So quietly bronzed, so enticing, so want-them-to-be-wrapped-around-any-part-of-me delicious; My best memories of your gait yesterday can't match your legs today. Even your feet, now accessorized by a fluffy crown of impassive silk robe, draw my eyes. Why are feet and sex, within the same sentence, restricted to the vocabulary of fetishists? A poised turn -- it took forever -- and you stand before me: luminous smiling face happy to share your well-designed charms with me, fully naked, fully ripe, fully exceptional. I know now why I plant kisses where I plant kisses: about your neck, upon your throat, all over your upper chest; Softest skin sprinkled oh-so delightfully with freckles -- the teeniest tiniest of brunette jewels. Your womanly breasts, so perfect, so inviting, so shapely, so everything (so at a loss for words am I); So breathtaking in their quality, I find that when I hold and caress them I must work hard to control my breathing. Even bra-and-blouse-covered, your breasts proclaim perfection and only I -- lucky me -- see them not so concealed. Creaminess punctuated by pinchable tips in a fine soft, but not too soft, shade of delicious coral. More boundaries and zones, stenciled by the flattering sun, now glisten under bedroom lights. A belly-button never commanded a good tongue-thrashing as much as yours does. Poised within a tummy I adore, this dimple, this sweet hollow is what has made the slinkiest of bikinis lose their attention-getting qualities in comparison -- no matter the suit bottom, all eyes gazed upon the tempting dip and dot (yes, my eyes included). And below this sweet petite focal point of your earthy body, a few inches below this yummiest of nicely naughty nooks lies the greatest and most exquisite body part of all; so magnificent, I cannot pretend to verbalize the intricate splendor of this triangular meeting of your outer flesh and your inner sexual consciousness. And I won't. Yet this, this essence of femaleness, and the rest are pieces. The whole is your triumph. And you take it all one better. As if your fine, voluptuous form didn't already overwhelm me, You wow me with a smile, a real smile, and You wow me with a twinkle, a twinkle-sparkle-flutter from the windows of your soul... No one knows those golden-greens as I. Sweet lady: I rejoice in your beauty. |