Robes

Poured over me, this warm black Dragon’s milk,
The darkness shines with purest eastern silk.
The magic weaves a temporary skin.
What better way to make our night begin?

Yours are the eyes- the orange eyes of fire,
Enticing, just as smooth, the same desire.
Yet time to pause and savor with that smile
The knowledge that our robes will make a pile.

Untying sash as steamy dreams unfold,
The pressure builds like breath we cannot hold.
The robes now fall replaced by body heat,
But no less milk, so warm and sticky sweet.

First crushed by all the love that we have needed,
Then thankful for this call that we have heeded-
Two lovers join as both decide they care
To make their home inside a Dragon’s lair.

Copyright September 2002 by John H. Bidwell