by Jim Kirby
she sits astride my body moist and hot
her eyes aglow with only she knows what,
upon my neck marks made by her with love
and on her hand she wears this velvet glove.
the room is stifling hot with no fresh air
sweat and tears have wet her long blond hair,
her burning eyes look on me from above
and on her hand she wears this velvet glove.
she lightly moves upon me lips apart
the only sound I hear is from her heart,
her touch a feather like a small white dove
and on her hand she wears this velvet glove.
she shudders once and gives a tiny cry
smiles down at me and breaths a sleepy sigh,
lies down beside me eyes so bright with love
and on her hand she wears this velvet glove.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
I am an Antique & Fine Art Consultant and Writer of novels, short stories, poems & articles. I believe in reincarnation and the Cosmos and I am passionate about the 1920s, 30s & 40's, especially with regard to Hollywood and the Motion Picture Industry. I am an Indigo person and believe that I was born at the wrong time and in the wrong place. I long to go back in time to where I belong.
Last updated October 16, 2015