The Lounge
H
Herbert Nehrlich
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You lie with me, my love,
be still I say
and do not speak
while I begin
to bathe your twins
in warmth and pheromones.
Your hands now rest
so gingerly
upon my back,
carressing,
pink nails
singing their tactile song.
Oh yes, I will,
hand roaming finds
its hopeful way,
to where new eagerness resides
and greets with glee.
A welcome,
moist with promises
and timid lust
that treads with care
onto two lips of velvet.
Where whispers live
and soon will speak
in tongues
that taste
and understand.
Bu şiiri puanla
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