In twilight, old songs you're softly humming.
Silken smiles enliven your lovely face,
beguiling my presence still, becoming
in all your ways, sweet gift of heaven's grace.
Deep your eyes, beheld above the stillness
of mystic mien, dismissing every voice.
Caresses known in sadness and in illness,
a bounty cherished, if you make the choice.
Alluringly, you draw the bedroom curtain
and sing in softest voice of violins.
Of languid looks and outcome certain,
as old as Eve, the ancient dance begins.
Sway, your heated honey scent of passion
and poise, anticipating kiss conceived,
shall return my longing, in your fashion
and make my life ten times a joy perceived.
My love grows great to see your form advance
and weave with siren song the ancient dance.
Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2014