The Silken Gown
No matter how splendid, travels.
There is always something wondrous about coming home.
The silken gown, strewn across the bed,
like a second skin, shed...
The drop of your delicate shoulders,
the unimaginable joy as you swept through the room,
lighting all those darkened corners,
your bright flowing hips,
the delicate slips of silken skin,
brushed, crushed from within.
To watch you sleep,
long dark curls, lingering upon the slip,
loves softened yielding bosom, your fulsome lip,
plucked in the ripeness of this mid-summers moon.
The suckling kiss, the petalled rose in bloom,
full parted...
Heaving against this alabaster shore,
rising with the swell, uncharted,
surging from the oceans pearly depths,
Je t'adore.
I have always loved these moments,
late in summer, awake within the dappled midnight hour,
swooning in the beauty and the heat,
soft emanations in the night,
doe eyes caught in the moonlit bloom of your soul,
peeking from out a forest of soft shadows,
your silken gown, The cool fall of softened fingers...
Home...
© Richard Michael Parker 2013
