His touch —
softly down to
secret places —
was not as hungry
as I expected.
There was no rush
to grab hold
of the moment,
to take
for himself
its brass ring.
In the last lights of day
he was unhurried
and gentle,
savoring the pace
of us as if
there were no end.
So many
sweet unspokens
tip-toed
across skin,
he surprised
a tremble
from my soul.
Poem from the archives, while I work on finishing my book. Words ©2007, Jen Payne.
Image: Adam and Eve, Frank Eugene.
I must say I’m not a poetry fan, and prefer a short precise one over one you need to scroll down to read. This one is a winner!
Aww – thanks! Poetry is like food, I think. We each have our own likes and dislikes, go-tos and comforts.
Very good, Jen!
Thank you! : )
Exquisitly peaceful. Slow and sensual. This gave me tingles.
Perfect! : )