I'll meet you down by the bridge.
Bring some cold ones from the fridge.
We'll climb to the ridge, and
taste a smidge, of forbidden fruit.
I'll smooth my blanket out.
Know what I'm talking about?
Even if we scream or shout,
they won't hear us far below.
We can see for miles and miles.
All I can think of is your smiles,
when we throw our daily toils,
to the summer wind.
Bring your bikini or bring it not.
The sun will be warm; it won't be a hot.
Let the breeze caress your bare skin,
let it massage the mood you're in.
Wild flowers will be flirting with fragrant perfume.
The bees will be buzzing just about noon.
We’ll share our food with a lustful eye,
as the clouds drift gently across the sky.
Sated with food and a little bit tipsy,
my hands search your body like an errant gypsy.
Drops of salty perspiration run down your skin,
fueling the fire burning within.
My lips taste yours with salty perception.
Electric encounter with soulful intention.
You come to my senses like air to a fire.
We rock to the roll of the song called desire.
When we lie back, we can feel the full breeze.
Our senses flush alive, our minds at ease.
Picturing the clouds as they drift by,
dreams in their shadows to our minds eye.
Suddenly, awake, from a deep, deep sleep,
the sun is waning, but it's burned so deep.
I play with your whimsy covering pink skin.
Rekindling the fire your mood is in.
Sunburn be damned, we don't care.
The fire within us burns brighter by far.
And so when the sun sets safely to rest,
we steal off to home to the expected test.
Instead of a "smidge" (cool word) it seems that you indulged in a cornucopia of passion! And that errant gypsy seems to have ignited a conflagration of passions in this delightful poem Ron.
Perhaps a small linen lean to would do the trick concerning the sunburn. Blessings to you ...
Zara’s Bois:
When the powers-that-be make the decision to return a selfish party-girl to Earth on three missions of redemption, can romance and mayhem be far behind? One hot and trendy gay nightclub, two bickering angels and three unlikely p
passion and sensual desires, brought to fruition...
Love,
Eileen
Perhaps a small linen lean to would do the trick concerning the sunburn. Blessings to you ...
Richard
Red apples, green apples on the floor
The bad is out to score a star king mood for sure!!
LOL!!
Love Tinka Re-deviously-bad