Aug 2020
I know how your lips are macadamia husk amber, rosy and crimson, lubricious and subdued like silk sashes, radiant and warm as cloves in burlap sacks.
Their live, insatiable kiss, moist and breathy, rouses quick and electric heat, brushing softly and passionately like butterfly wings.
The feel of your waist, tender and delicate like the half-curled frond of a sun washed fiddle-head fern, sizzling and thermal under my hands.
Fingertips tracing the figuration of your rhythmic contrasting thighs, navigating your rounded hips with familiar fascination as your skin orchestrates an exhaled symphony of inaudible passion.
Scattering nascent rays of unfiltered moonlight, yes your unfathomable, unbaked clay eyes form the immortal art of a perfect soul with a swallowing incomprehensible depth.
Swirling warm and edged with a muddied silhouette canvasing the luminescence dancing in your irises with a soft glimmer, conjuring lucid eyes that betray this poet.
If I could touch your face, to be a fleshy passion fruit on your tongue, to be the skin inside your palm, to be yours and tender as steak imagined off the bluegill's pearlish bones.
O' show me the detail my love, the intricate structure of your faultlessness and the languish against my slow chapped power.
Your infallible inerrant hands, touch in a slow successive tactility as though arching away at every bone, inciting and conjuring upon approval even from the very last toe.
Your embrace is the most exquisite distress, sweating, feeling an impetuous volcano strain at its peak inside me, urging to explode my steaming self over you
That voice that floats off untethered as the corners of your mouth tilt up like commas around " beautiful phrases ", glazing with human light and espousing them to your lips.
Adoring the twilight of your skin, it's brilliant light tone beginning to blush evenly, each cell inspired to push toward that ruddiness of purpose and that sigh.
In neither absent nor a pensive mood, the bliss of your solitude, the grandeur of your ever happy self, tossing its head in a sprightly dance, you are my passion
Their live, insatiable kiss, moist and breathy, rouses quick and electric heat, brushing softly and passionately like butterfly wings.
The feel of your waist, tender and delicate like the half-curled frond of a sun washed fiddle-head fern, sizzling and thermal under my hands.
Fingertips tracing the figuration of your rhythmic contrasting thighs, navigating your rounded hips with familiar fascination as your skin orchestrates an exhaled symphony of inaudible passion.
Scattering nascent rays of unfiltered moonlight, yes your unfathomable, unbaked clay eyes form the immortal art of a perfect soul with a swallowing incomprehensible depth.
Swirling warm and edged with a muddied silhouette canvasing the luminescence dancing in your irises with a soft glimmer, conjuring lucid eyes that betray this poet.
If I could touch your face, to be a fleshy passion fruit on your tongue, to be the skin inside your palm, to be yours and tender as steak imagined off the bluegill's pearlish bones.
O' show me the detail my love, the intricate structure of your faultlessness and the languish against my slow chapped power.
Your infallible inerrant hands, touch in a slow successive tactility as though arching away at every bone, inciting and conjuring upon approval even from the very last toe.
Your embrace is the most exquisite distress, sweating, feeling an impetuous volcano strain at its peak inside me, urging to explode my steaming self over you
That voice that floats off untethered as the corners of your mouth tilt up like commas around " beautiful phrases ", glazing with human light and espousing them to your lips.
Adoring the twilight of your skin, it's brilliant light tone beginning to blush evenly, each cell inspired to push toward that ruddiness of purpose and that sigh.
In neither absent nor a pensive mood, the bliss of your solitude, the grandeur of your ever happy self, tossing its head in a sprightly dance, you are my passion
For Nelida Ndaubvonga
