Praise be to the sacred song
of her sweet sexuality.

Soft skin, paled underneath
the smiling moon grinning Cheshire,
eyes close in silent prayer
to a deity who is not there.

If she only knew that she was,
the goddess of desire,
long blond curls falling down past
her supple shoulders,

cool water washing naked skin,
and from her mind’s distance
she imagines him
the one she loves
adoring her as she adores
the sparkling expanse.
How two lover’s hands
intertwine as passion’s twin finds
peace behind the trails and pines.

Long neck, blushing cheeks,
and in my dreams she is the one I seek,
wonderful witchy woman of words
nature’s breathing poetess.

She rises from the cool blue pool,
hands to her breast as the moistness
slides from her hair down her sides
around and under her thighs,
dripping on the evening’s green
as she greets the night and starts to dry.

Then returns to my dreams,
safely sequestered in passing fancies
of magical women I will write about
but never meet or even see in reality.