Child Of Her Master Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

This
innocent
one knows.
And as in such
memories, the
comfort of one
surreal embrace, the
warmth, the touch; the breath.
Sounds of clinging silk gowns softly
slipping against one's breast. The eyes
the sighs; that gasp of breath, and then
the kiss of moist tenderness. The soul
blissed in this does not resist those
parted lips and buss on pink flesh
or, the heated grasp of hands
around that neck so soft
so warm, so welcoming
of the essence within
beckoning to totally
surrender to the calm of
creation, in the quest for an
elation, in this moment
of serene peace…