Morning Slows
On pillow white soft winds had blown
yellow bright breed yields once sown
lost fields of grass her footfalls tread
searched far and wide a nook to bed
Across blue sphere stray sparkles shined
warm hearts befell and futures dined
what followed slow bare tiptoes braved
long time past due sweet bodies craved
Moist lips pursued, perused and sipped
brushed skin aroused as bosom gripped
beating chests still breaths hearts stole
entwined entrusts forth welcomed souls
Morning slows where last touches brace
smiles lie on a pretty face
Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2018
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