-Snow Upon A Secret Hill-
I love long movies on winter nights,
crushed in the heat of erotic delight;
Hours of pointless tape muffling the ragged sounds,
the moans, the slapping joy of wet skin,
the howling winds beating the panes,
jealously licking the frames,
aching to get in.
I love it when it begins...
The look upon your lover,
The passing hours, kissed,
sealed within a cave of sighs,
rapt in timeless flesh,
the deep nirvana of supple thighs,
buried inside a womb, enmeshed.
Dead to the world,
outside, each plaintiff moan,
each groaning thrust,
trussed inside your lovers soul;
And all the world is oblivion!
I love it when the credits roll,
to look at one another,
with that knowing surprise,
erupting in love and laughter,
locked in the furtive glance of handcuffed eyes.
Rolling in a mass of huddled joy, to kiss,
as if only the two of you together exist.
Turning off the light to the world,
the static, drifting in the distance,
like snow upon a secret hill.
© Richard Michael Parker 2013
