Thy Lips of Espresso Gold
Thy lips of espresso gold,
convey to me,
your desperado untold.
Thine eyes for your own,
merriest of forbidden
pleasures,
to hold.
Your supple smile upon
thine own,
reveal.
Amidst only
to conjure,
to conceal.
Parlay, if I may,
to implore
the keenest sense
of your fulfillment,
I adore.
Gently now, our merriment. . .
embarking upon salutation.
No more our desire,
of infatuation?
Copyright © Trevor Morse | Year Posted 2006
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