I simply bask in the
magnificent timbre of your murmurs.
I spread them on my
skin, like tranquilizing balm or a
sacred fount of ashes, streaming from
your lips,
only wondering if what you
utter is palpable.

Liveliness, and then
a hint of longing,
under a shimmering bough,
golden in the sunlight of your
haunting lilts.
I could weep because you sound like a
nightingale in supple breezes,
greeting me by name,
a trembling deep;
the brimming frenzy below your
demeanor of sultry sex,
eagerly resounding
around my senses;
tornado architecture and
hand-sewn transcendence.


  1. This is indeed erotic and sensual. I don’t understand about a “fount of ashes” though. Is this to say someone who was sacred although mortally challanged inspired deeply the love making or beauty in attitude of another person?

Love you, too

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