Sunday, December 5, 2010

Ode to Her Bosum Ripe....

Ode to Her Bosum Ripe....
His thoughts drift to her...her smiling eyes, soft and bright,
Her glow exudes, tis his to feed...
Her touch, gentle, exact, just so, so right,
He gathers her in, sheltering in warm embrase,
Pressed to him feeling his need...
her soft cheek's light touch.... his grace...

Bemoan your plight....
oh penning lad,
His goddess Greek
his Minx so sleek...
oh to feel the gentle caress of her cheek,
tis she that is his to seek,

Eyes closed, he feels her near,
sudden enveloping emotions fly, he cannot quell that single tear,
his heart feints like a dueler's rapier; a hand wraps 'round, seeking passage through her satin robe,
oh such a robe!
guardian of her sex,
sheathing her silken skin, the glaze on her candied fruits from oven fresh,

his nuzzle elipsing her offered lobe....
cupping gently, he feels her weighty Orb..
the heft just right,
pendulous, soft goblet of his hunger's quench,
His ode a simple offering, his all, all that he has,

An Ode to her left breast....
that creamy orb, gentle softness unmatched
a peach golden and ripe,
His to caress,

A gentle caress,
Gentle as angel's breath on the brow of a child lost in slumber....
that gentle pattern of God's marks be-speckling her shimmering globe...
pink peak responding at his delicate approach,
the summit his to caress,

her skin tingling under his hand,
the tiny hairs he feels rise and stand,
piloerection his scientific mind announces,
quelled as quickly by her Madonna's smile,

she turns and peers into his eyes,
what thoughts do sail cross those shimmering blue waters?
He muses, kissing lips of berry stroked red,
weighty gobblet cradled within his cupped hand,

Oh her summit,
oh her peak,
that special shape he finds so facinating,  his to caress,
to lick,
to kiss,
tiny crinkling announcing his effect,
Arroused, her emotion she cannot disguise
barely a moan, slipping inot tiny sighs,

She shudders under his caress
Her robe open, drawn in partial undress,
chaste, yet not,
a woman desired,
her left breast safe in his hand,
Her heart beating a rythm matching his own
breaths shallow and filled with portent,

no words spoken save gentle purrs,
a quiet dance of two souls in duet,

so much of life is there to regret
not this not she not here not now not yet

A New Jerusalem rising in the golden sea,
forms under the touch of his hand,
spooned together her own over his,
tis thee,
my heart in your command.
your blooming breast safe within my hand......


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