1991-05-15

Only Your Lips

Paintbrush bristles drifted over gooseflesh,
then, oozy bathing sponge presses.

Tepid water caresses: thigh… waist… spine.

Long-leaf-pine-needle carpeting
from sentinels filtering hazy sunset sheets.

Moss-covered stones, a pool pearl-lined.

[Stepping out of this liquid bed
chills perception and silences birds.

Off alabaster, heatless light reflected blinds.]

Re-immerse: skin… senses… soul
under the entrancing touch of your lips.














        ~Volpini Amentum Arete Anemone




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