The fire of fantasy does not flame in blazing red or bright orange
As it did in my young man years.
The ecstasies do not explode with the passion of physical collisions
Or at the mere urgings of primal lust.
Now it is the shape of your neck as you gaze downward
It’s slope an invitation to glide along your beauty.
The warm desire for the silken touch of the back of your hand
And the sweet tones of your whispers in my ear, sharing intimate lies
Through lips that turn mere words to a siren’s song.
Speak into my eyes with your translucent soul-gates
And allow me to wander among the wonders of you.
I succumb to the simple desire to wrap an arm around
The graceful curve of the small of your back and pull you close
So that we may mingle together in the essence of a forever moment,
To smell your hair and live the springtime
Walk within you as an explorer of a new world
And hear you sigh in the summer.