Francis Osho Poet I do not know?

Kisses Are Creamed

piercing eyes of wisdom
soul searching in depth
the intensity of the stare
her soul is scrutinising
mine
summer is climbing over
spring in our steps
vines of my thoughts
clambering over
her tender intricate
wants
our souls in a deep
embrace
lips slipping into virgin
kisses
yellow river over flowing
honey bees dancing in
pairs
fluttering  butterflies of
red and black
the return of the master
love flies without resting
aching lips numbing tongue
hands are waiting
to  caress to comfort to stroke 
our kisses are creamed

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