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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Fantasy · #1291971
Lovemaking can be composed of all different flavors and meanings, just like people.
A strawberry lies within my reach.
a game; my hands tied by ribbons.
He laughs, kisses me deeply,
then places the fruit in my mouth.

Juice runs down my chin,
between my breasts.
His mouth claims my nipples.
Once again, I want to be his shadow.

You never look into my eyes,
which one of us do you need to protect?
I know of five times in thirty years.
You confess and I never reject.

Thoughts swirl back to perfect days,
innocent and gentle people lived.
Daisy flowers crowned my golden hair.
All just pretty lyrics from a memory book.

Now as we make love in the shower.
I run my hands over your body,
still muscular, firm, a virile male scent.
I tingle and ride the waves.

A post coital smoke brings hunger.
In the kitchen, we find passion food.
We cut pineapple, raspberries, mangoes
all the time eating and sipping wine.

On my stereo, Janis growls
history paints her as a pearl or panther.
She was free with all who prowl.
Loving everyone else,
so sad she didn't love herself.

It is evening, cool and serene,
we snuggle on the porch swing.
We are under Grandma's wedding ring quilt.
The sunset is ice cream colors;
grape, strawberry, blueberry and peach.

We hold hands, his large slender fingers
entwined with my smaller ones.
Serendipity, karma, a harmonic connection,
so I just delight in our shared prayer.
Just being here is simple sweetness.

Life has few enough moments
of richness and wonder.
It doesn’t require language.
I am making a memory moment.
The next time I need one, this will be here.








By Kathie Stehr
© Copyright 2007 Redtowrite (kat47 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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