She is standing there naked
by the edge of the mantle
wearing a light skirt
that folds over her thighs.
Her right foot is on a stool.
Her two ripe round oranges
rest on oranges she has
in her hands and on her arm.
Pensive looks, soft lips
dark short hair, body slim
she peers into your eyes.
A beauty to behold.
Her oranges
succulent and sweet
invite my tremulous lips for sips
and gentle little nips on the tips.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem