Steven Cooke (01-04-1958 / Sheffield)
A whiskey Love
Through a glass of Whiskey I found her.
Her eyes, Flaming Blue, hiding a glance of Heaven
Her hair golden like the reflection of an English buttercup,
Open to the flirtations of the sun.
Her lips soft, pink,
Like the dawn over a distant tulip field,
With a promise to reveal, even more,
Moist, sweet, the taste of a woman
Her neck, slim, elegant, with a hint of summer,
Jeweled with faint dew drops from the evenings heat
Her shoulders, graceful, a ballerinas calling
Perfectly formed, a place for heroes,
To rest their head
Her arms slender, delicate, with a promise of an angels embrace
An embrace that could wash away, all your sins
Her dress clinging to her body, like the lilies in a pond,
Hiding the secrets below
Her wrist adorned with a single pearl,
But it is she who is more precious
No mortal offering could eclipse her.
Her hands soft, with a touch,
That I would gladly die for.
No ring, dare I wish?
Her legs, long, perfectly formed,
Made to move, like a gentle summer wind,
Caressing the flowers of some meadow,
In a faraway dream. Breathtaking.
When she walked the whole world stood still
She glanced, our eyes met
My soul was stolen,
Engulfed in flames of desire
My heart penetrated, laid bear with a love so rare,
My mind lost in sweet expectation.
A feeling beyond, any poets gaze
She smiled, my body quivered
For this moment, I would gladly lead the forlorn hope.
These seconds, I remember them so well.
I was overwhelmed by the closeness of her spirit,
Her presence commanding an invisible audience,
Of stolen glances, a vision of woman,
Of such form, such desire, such love.
Then like a gentle whisper, her body, brushed against mine
Leaving the air perfumed
Like orchids being carried by a holy dove.
Then my heart shattered, strewn across the floor,
Like yesterday’s confetti.
For the smile, was for someone else.
Comments about this poem (A whiskey Love by Steven Cooke )
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