soft she was and ripe
like melons that lie in summer gardens
drenched with heavy dew
sweetened by sun scorched days
swelled by thunderous evening rains
ripe for love and juicy sweet
on the tip of his tongue
her hands were still elegant
and youthful, though not young
practiced in the art of pleasure
tender of touch against his skin
skillful in their explorations
her body rounded and full
of love’s unfeigned promise
her lips pink like watermelon fruit
and succulent, softly yielding
to the bold advances of his
as they tasted deeply her flavor
like a nectar-starved hummingbird
passon's reward consumed
without a glimpse of guilt
her time of perfection was now
to be sipped leisurely
and eaten ravenously
before over-ripened and wasted
in approaching winter's chill
and he was gluttonous,
famished, for early autumn melons
Belle, your poems which compare a woman to the time of seasons are wonderfully done and as always, tasteful, as is this one using fruit as the measure. I very much enjoyed the image of the man hungry for the perfectly ripe woman in her prime.
Rusty
It is always an indeed pleasure to read such remarkable and well written work here on the den. Keep writing and wishes of all success to you in all that you do.
Reviewed by Chantilly Lace (Reader)
Reviewed on March 28, 2007
whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..sweet...Hugssssss
Reviewed by Elizabeth Taylor (Reader)
Reviewed on March 28, 2007
Girl, you are melting my monitor.
Your keyboard should be smoking.
Welcome to Hell on Earth, boys.
Andersonville POW camp...
Russell's battle-worn body looked defeated. He was a Union soldier; she was a Confederate nurse. But when Rosa looked into his eyes, she saw pure determination. He looked fo
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Sage
Love Tinka
Carole~
Beautiful, sensual and passionate. Your word usage was exquisite my friend.
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :D
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Rusty
Your keyboard should be smoking.
So good!