The America of Her Body

30

He travels slowly down his
Lover’s body, she is passive as
An angel waiting to turn human

They are dancing in body-talking
She swells to meet him arching
Her back, her navel, her harmonious

Chime of thighs, once winged
He tells her she is his Delphic oracle
To fill his ear full of sweet nothings

Those chosen pearls of hers do swell
They, intoxicated wait for the pulse
Of joy in earthly motions, those tongues

That dwell, on a boundless sea of successful
Unity, they scattered their dearest cries
Like an alchemy of flattered death

That strange hands and lips would not deny
Those kisses she and he know best –
He travels sweetly in her soul of gold

Through her moisture to the other side
She warms to a hot liquid of clay molding
Her form into mortal awareness, at last

With two bloods mingling gently as one
With no sin, no shame, no inhibition left
The marriage is a temple; the feast divine

Free license to all roving art, from behind
Before, above, between, below, a new-found discovery!

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/–409074243

6 thoughts on “The America of Her Body

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