I walk slowly towards you from the hall.
I want you to watch me move.
I move with my hips and thighs.
My soul is moving inside you now.
Your eyelashes cannot hide the need
In your eyes. You move to rise.
I whisper, 'Stay there. I will come to
You.'
As the swaying gets faster, I place
My finger on the back of your neck.
Then, so slowly, down your back.
Back up. Slower. Down your chest.
I have always been your queen.
Always your harem of one.
The mistress of your need.
You, my king of fire.
Excuse my poor attempts at poems of love. I will do better tomorrow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
No excuses needed Medea... Poem was sultry, seductive, and timeless. Zen