Whisps of moonlight
stealing through the window,
silvered highlights
light’ning in her dark hair.
Her eyes irridescent as a moon-bow,
her skin, like buttercream,
is much too fair.
Cherry lips
whose voice is like sweet music.
She does not walk,
but glides upon her feet.
I’d not touch her flesh
for fear I’d bruise it.
Watch her peaceful slumber
on the sheet.
Her dreams are but
the finest flights of fancy.
To hear her murmuring her lover’s name
can fairly drive me to a lustful frenzy,
sweetly overwhelmed
by love’s cruel game.
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passion will get ya!!!