Work in progress
 

Their new romance is what you call a 'work in

Progress,' not quite fully fledged yet but boy

Are they working on it. Long periods of time

And motion, time because they have all night

To spend together, and motion because neither

Can keep their hands off the other.

 

Cool as you like on the surface, hot to the touch

Underneath, 'sizzling' would do it, but I prefer

'Smoking,' legs fixing to wrap him up, lock him

Up and throw away the key. Softest voice, softest

Tempo - beautiful girl, got what you call soul

Deep, heart deep, eyes.

 

He knows how lucky he is, watching her bathe

He knows he's in a time warp, knows his clock

Has slipped a cog and whizzed him back to a

More romantic time, a time of grace and beauty,

And there his Greek Goddess standing in her

Shell, a fluidity of form to thrill the eye of none

Other than Botticelli.

 

When they're together the tenderest fingers

Touch the tenderest flesh, flesh that springs

Back into shape when released, begging to

Be touched and teased over and over again.

In silhouette they are one, joined now, joined

Forever, easy to see how Gods and saints

Where brought to their knees by the flesh of

A woman.

 

It is indeed an inspiring thought to trace a hand

Over the outline of a heavenly body, warm and

Inviting, yielding as only a woman can be. Men

Would march through Hell to be where this

woman sleeps, and yet here is a man laid beside

Her by invitation, no marching required, ‘just love

Me,’ read the invitation, a short but powerful line 

That meant all the world to her and all the world

To him.

Take her in your arms, melt her like deep

Chocolate in a warm pan, swirl her round a

Bit, slowly stir, dip a finger to taste - 'Cor! lovely.’

Hold her close, kiss her where you know she

Wants to be kissed, lock the door...

'Work in progress.'

 

© Joseph G Dawson