Door o' Green
Door o’ green
The door of green it stands ajar,
I enter here in a dream, so far,
A rough hewn table, here it sits,
Big yellow candle splutters its,
An ancient room, of meditation …..
As I look about the ancient room,
A figure seen within the gloom,
Svelte of body, bosoms loom,
The sweetness of creation,
She comes to me with loving eyes,
No words are needed, sobs or sighs,
And pressing close, and locked of eye,
I hold this incarntation,
The sudden chill of nipple freeze,
The points are made with subtle ease,
What can I do but play on these,
No words of explanation?
Moving closer within her thighs,
I trace her form, though things do rise,
Her bosoms rise, in breath caught size,
Inpaled by the situation,
I try to leave, she says don’t go,
The fire is burning me, you know,
Till passions fire has had to blow,
The magic place behind the door,
Where love does wait for me and more,
Fantasy says, yes me explore,
A mental apparition….
Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2013
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