She was made up of earth and poetry
a silk garden of flames
that bloomed flowers of soft lust
the sun had adorned her skin
with small kisses that stained her face
with stars shaped like freckles
and the moon wove its magic
from the colors of her eyes
she was goddess and muse and woman
and all the things that made life feel beautiful
her blood ran with the indigo rivers
along the mountains of eternities horizon
and she hypnotized with slow poison
from the drunken haze of midnight ***
and her velvet lips could mend the broken
and raise the dead with just a dream of a kiss
and she only had to show the skin of her neck
to make fools out of mortal men
who let prayers of sin seep from their hardened
and wanting desire to know who she was
under her jeans and shirts and nakedness
when she unfolded and dripped and moaned
and took and gave and offered and devoured
from light morning kisses and drowsy eyes
to bending over the kitchen sink
with just enough skin exposed
to plow and grunt through the day
and fall into frenzied sheets
of ***** deeds under the moon
and exposed secrets of lost pleasures
only known by those that have swallowed
the fires of sin and the blood of honey
and in the aftertaste she lingered
with a hint of her earth and poetry