Chuckle Of Content Poem by John Rickell

You would not think I could forget
the touch of you, light as silk I recall
then of velvet, satin, finest linen
each the aura that is you.
Would I could steal the cloth, take
it home to my bed wrapped round to
dream of you uterine beside me.
To dream of skin, fine hairs to
glisten in the morning sun, musk laden
with your scents to rival those of lily
which I confirm each time I kiss the
sacred place for which there is no name
save ours, so secret none shall know.
There is but little time to wait, each one too far
now my memory is revived, I had not forgotten
how could I forget? like the lemon bowl
before the dinner plate this lapse will
cleanse my tongue to taste again
the sweet I know so well,
cries and silent moments
waiting the chuckle of content.