“You are enough to drive a saint to madness or a king to his knees.”
Grace Willows
As I slowly awaken
In the
Early dawn
Hour,
My body is
Lusciously warm,
And fully satiated,
My lips still feel
The press of yours,
My tongue remembers
The taste of yours,
And my drowsy mind
Nonetheless remembers
Every passionate moment
Of the night just past.
My eyes open languidly
And I sigh with pleasure
As I breathe in
Your scent.
Mingled with my own essence
And the musky evidence
Of our passion,
The air,
As well as the bed
With its mangled sheets,
Give testimony to
The earthy urgency of
Our union,
And as my hand follows
The track of
My admiring gaze
Up and over
Your stirring body,
I find you watching me,
Your attention focused
And your expression intent.
I smile seductively
Before gently nipping
Your bottom lip.
“Are you up
For another round?”
I ask,
And I'm rewarded when
You shift
To roll me beneath you
With a husky chuckle.
I guess you are.
A search for the ghost of a chorus girl chorine haunting a costume designer’s Manhattan apartment leads to an encounter with an eccentric, mischievous witch with the ability to send folks back through time…in this case, the 1919 Ziegfeld Follies.
Ron