French red lace-

Melts
Into the arms
Of a lover’s firm embrace.

Hungry eyes marry mine,
As I wriggle out of frills
Around my thighs.

Silken flowers
Curl

Ribbons purr, so
Teasingly at him.

Dusting the contours
Of his chest
My hands caress
His rib cage;

Wrestling me down
To the floor
Again
He thirsts for more,
And his tongue is ready

We free fall
Merge like eagles
With commanding wings
In In,

Into the ferines
Of our sexual heaven.

© Deborah Gordon 2008