Let rain gather in your hair
that it might fall across pale shoulders
and wash my hungry kisses down
in drops of melting lips
that love you to the bare bottom
of your naked feet.

Let the soft white light of moon
rest to sleep upon fawn curves
that cut woman from the sheets
of red velvet whispers
unfolded.

Let the tick of timeless clock
betray its echo in the dark
and chase our hands in circles
until they turn flesh to fire
burnt sighs.


Top          Passion          Home

Copyright ©2002 by Tony Spivey. All rights reserved.
Tony’s biography page
Tony’s archive