Then there’s no truth
in the rumour is there
you’ve never lost your touch
that pique of yesterday
dreamily evaporating in
sultry-scented energies
overwhelmed in a blush of
sensuality too pristine to
dismiss as strains of erotic
hearsay - and those meditative
expressions are reinvigorated
refreshened in just-uttered
ecstatic gasps - the ones
where your muted gesture
tells the whole tale again -
luridly within a flush of
the voluptuary reborn - or
is it sybarite caught in the
storm’s aftermath - the
one that is as intense
as the moment's origin
© 11 March 2017, I. D. Carswell
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