Still Scented With Her Perfume

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Her Lace
By La Belle Rouge

They were purple.... no pink
or a combination of both...
fuchsia perhaps.

Soft, transparent chantilly
matching perfectly her bustier
of flowered satin and lace.
She remembers the expression on his face
as he appreciatively gazed at
the creamy tops of her breasts
lifted above the demi cups.

While one bold finger
lightly traced across ivory hills
and between their shadowed valley
he sighed....
“Oh Baby, My Baby.”

She felt like a high school girl
as she blushed and melted at his touch.
It seemed as if she would burst into flame
when he tenderly whispered her name.
And his lips found firm pink buds,
before his fingers slipped lower, lower
over... then under the chantilly lace.

With warm whispers against her ear
things a woman longs to hear,
she knew she couldn’t resist
and a mutual earthquake was near.

Her deep sighs matched his
and she feared she would faint

No she was NO saint

Drifting with sweet, forbidden sensations
wanting his touch to never end
she moaned and trembled again.

Later on the phone he whispers
“I can still taste your lips
imagine the sway of your hips.
I remember and I feel”
She asks him almost shyly if he still
has the token she gave him
when he left to catch his plane.

“Oh that...that pretty purple thing?”
He chuckles...

”Baby, it’s still scented with your perfume.
Your fragrance fills my thoughts, my room
I sleep with your lace soft on my face.
impossible to forget but, no longer wet
its lost its grace”

5/24/2007 La Belle Rouge

“Poetry, Passion’s Flame”


Music "Bach's Suite For Lute"