Morning:
She wakes beneath her rested lips,
Arches to a body-stretch;
Aligned yawns
Warm the soul,
Fill out the curves
In rhythms of arousal:
Writhe enlaces writhe
In making love to life.
Tuned in, the swell of breasts
Advertises presence,
Rounded readiness.
Petal-fleshed plains -
Cream-tan -
Sliding downward,
Seek out the glory
Past her navel
Where even softer surfaces
Converge upon her
Womanhood.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2012
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem