Lips

Your lips are divine
creations, American Beauty
rose petals, moist, opening
to loves jeweled morning dew,
beckoning with the red of passion.

A whisper of breath
from between those parted
chalices of desire, nectar,
the perfume of your heart,
a pulsating moment of completion.

The thought of caressing
their velvet fullness excites,
igniting a fire deep inside,
spreading warmth to every limb,
every particle of this body.

Anticipation is a quivering,
slow motion pressing of flesh,
a sweet taste of nourishing honey,
the cascading rapture of bliss,
a brief soaring on angel wings, Heaven.

Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour

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