Dark Dark Red Roses

I remember when love spoken plainly conveyed all manner of hidden agendas hands instead of tap dancing keys unlocked a body of work stroked skin melting into sultry deep pink summer satin caressed with a racing velvet lipped kiss smelling the other hint of warm leather dived deep swimming freestyle along the undulating waves towards the pulse at the base of a throat then, down towards the place where the heart beats fluttering signs read a welcome bend in the road, before heading south reverse the journey north, just at that place where a whisper can be heard under the ear, the hint of freshly cut silver grass and dark dark red roses the tongue becomes thirsty for life catching rivulets like rain running along curves dipping into the unexplored hollows, but surely like a fine wine that has once come-of-age, ready to be poured into it all, the law of love offers no fast and hard rules, the field is wide open the grass so much greener there grow the exotic blue orchids bending into and over all those bleeding dark dark red roses Candide Diderot. ‘24