Rolled Trousers

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.

This entry was posted in Poetry by bgm1969. Bookmark the permalink.

About bgm1969

This blog is updated by a guy who’s overweight, silly, Liberal, spiritual rather than religious, infatuated with beauty and grace, musically blessed, and always changing.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s