PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She abruptly beckoned me, shouting aloud, the flower bath is ready -

as her voice vibrates the currents commanding the lower streams. I

vaulted in, expecting chastisement as she adjusts to re-navigate my big

toe, buried as it was in her passageway, submerged deep like an obscured,

quiet submarine, in sunken depths between her irresistible, smooth, glossy

thighs. Then suddenly her excitement perked, and I thought it must be

working, until she sat up and said, “What is that delectable smell?”

So I tell her boastfully, “I am baking fresh 12 gain bread.” Although dirty

thinking to myself, indeed luscious, sweet temptress, in an oven not

nearly as sultry, tepid, or hotly variant as yours; but, I dare never fully

acknowledge my covert thirst, or the other perverted hungers I was

feeling. Typical male instincts stalking scents of female prey. Sick man ...

however, without thoughts of penetration, she was the one woman I truly

wanted to love me. So we dried, dressed, and set the kitchen table.

Raw, furtive emotions kept her visually naked. Yes, a vilified sea rover I

was - virtues, morality, and decency gone. If not for violating trust, this

animal would pounce on her. I should have done so when we drifted nude

in my curvaceous tub. Another chance, perhaps, but for now I must halt

my concupiscence, and feed her tantalizing belly Epicurean delights,

and read her poetry on a love seat not big enough to seduce her, nor with

heaps of aphrodisiacs, lavender bath, fresh bread, and my cryptic games.