The Beauty of Her
I write about her a lot,
her sensuality, a mystique I live to know,
I write about wanting to taste her,
simple and real, to actually feel my lips
on naked shoulders, with a freedom, to travel,
anywhere that sensitive silk will respond, in line,
with gasps, and eyes of delicious abandon
that are hers in the moment I want her.
Yes, when I am in that state of mind,
I do want her, and I feel blessed to have a chance.
To know the essence of beauty,
sometime frail with a sweet need of shelter,
sometime strong in resilience that, oh so sexy,
sometime unknown yet a glance in her windows,
tells me yes, but only when you suggest it is so.
I do wish to hold her,
to feel her swoon in my
strong arms, to know she may collapse in my touch,
only because she wants to and never because she is told.
I am her companion, that gives me hope,
to know I can provide shelter and peace, and continue
to accentuate her elegance, yes that certain wonder,
that when I sit alone, causes me stirrings,
notions a wild imagination sometimes wishes to explore.
And when you do,
when you walk to me,
with your own need,
when you disrobe your cautions,
allow me inside,
it is then, I am blessed,
it is at that time, I know I have been given the chance,
to in all of my sensual yearnings,
enhance, delight, arouse, explode, soft and reeling,
I will recognize,
the beauty of Her.