Written by Steven Fortune Your very walk
is an imprisoned tango
awaiting my advancing pardon
Your motion is a crimson
cotton candy waft
shaming sun-defined clouds
Your burgundy-enwrapped
calves are not a magnet
to the glaring of an idle
or a humble looker
There are eyes and then
there are imaginations
saddled with insinuations
Your anatomy
is a majestic elevator
lifting me to heated heights
Up I go from lower body
to bewitching bosom
Every pore connecting
my pulsating plane of skin
erupts in little flushes of
unlocked sweat
as your presence singes
all surroundings into
charred irrelevance
Advances overlap like
tectonic plates signalling
a meeting of abrasive
rhythms as my royal
flushed hand is shown.

© 2021