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Intimate eyes
The light is poor but the eyes are not. Candlelight highlights what the casual eye Will never see, but these eyes can see deep Into the soul of the other, each lost in a Whirlpool of fascination, mesmerically waiting For that precious moment when the threads Of love draw tight, and the eyes can stand no More, forcing the body to react in the only Way it can by surrendering to love.
High-romance is in the air, bodies fresh from Play relax, curves heaving in anticipation, Muscles glistening. The bed is not made For speed but for love, and thus they lie in The arms of Eros, each trapped in the eyes Of the other, and then that unfathomable, Unstoppable moment occurs, when the eyes Close, the lips meet, the lips part and ...
The night is cold but the bed is warm, and the Eyes warmer still. She lifts his face to hers looking Deep into his eyes in a fiery communion of souls. They are as God intended. She kisses the riverlets Of sweat on his brow tracing them down his face With her warm hand to his mouth, where she wets A finger on his tongue, and writes 'I love you' on His cheek.
© Joseph G Dawson Vote for this poem
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