The Saddle Curve

by David M Gunson

The warm perfume of woman’s skin,
The salty tang of sea-washed hair,
The tongue-sweet aroma of her breath,
The quickening pulse below her ear.

The moistened want bathing her eyes,
The shell-pink nostrils slightly flared,
The parted mouth and trembling lip,
The angled neck just waiting there.

The gentle pressure of her breasts,
The warmth of bellies against each other
The touch of hands....cool, soft caress,
The comfort of a tender lover.

The saddle curve of her back,
The dimpled promise of rounded cheeks,
The auburn lights lit by the sun,
The flesh as soft as downy peach.

The ache that grows and grows still more,
The tears that well up once again,
The joyous rapture tinged with fear,
You pray this bliss will never end.

01-Mar-2013

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