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Your carriage awaits Lie quietly tonight and you may hear A coach and pair pull up outside your Window. The right horse is Time, the Left horse Reflection. They will wait For an hour and you will hear their Hooves pacing the gravel eager to fly.
They are your servants for the night and Yours to command with a little help from The coachman. You will fly by starlight From the Constellation Perseus and be Safely back home by dawn should you Wish.
The coachman knows your heart well for He is Love and he will whisper to the Horses telling them of your every desire, And they will take you to the arms of a Man called Sincerity who loved you at First sight, thought you slipped from the Pages of heaven and more than that is Still in dire want of your love. A thousand Tears shed in vain is enough so come, dry Your eyes, your carriage awaits.
Clouds will blow away to reveal a lover's Moon. A moon that could only be conceived For one purpose that of love, and tonight its Light shall not be wasted for you are the star, And it is you for whom it shines.
Strong arms will reach out to embrace you, Hold you, enfold you, wrap you in the urgent Rush of a man in desperate need of your love. Taking your breath away gentle fingers will Trace your every curve, his hungry lips courting Every line of your beautiful body in a way no Man has ever done before. He will caress your Inner secrets, satisfy your every desire and then, Going beyond your wildest dreams, he will turn Your naked body to the moonlight, slide his Fingers over willing contours and then love You all over again.
Laid on a bed of floating diaphanous chiffon You will be powerless to resist his gaze, your Body will be his and his alone. There will be No way back from this heavenly place, your Flesh will rejoice in the lightness of his touch Whilst responding willingly to the sheer force Of his love. A love that will last long into the Night, into this night, the next night and every Night from now on should you so wish, but do Please remember, the coach must leave before Dawn. Question is: will you be on it? No, I
Didn't think so.
© Joseph G Dawson Vote for this poem
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