Etta James, singing “At Last” behind me now,
lights turned low, ******* of Drambuie on ice
the air carries the aroma of desert roses,
green fern and damp mossy bark; the gift of a posy.

The scent reminds me of the quick light rains
tapping in the afternoon, making love to thirsty
new greens, coaxing them up to reach for more.
My body reacts to the thought, arching up.

Sips of warming golden liquid, the cold ice
a give-and-take of restrained contrast,
until the liquid has all been consumed –
and the ice remains, bearing the spirit upon it.

Contributions to reflections in sensuality,
The ice, captured up quickly from the glass
held in deft fingers, neatly, to paint their
cold upon my lips, sipped within a warm mouth.

The cold, diminished cube, dances on the tongue.
I rise; the glass left behind, and come to you –
Face to face, eye to eye.  The kiss shares the cool
as the ice passes between us, to melt in loves flame.

Eyes close, now drinking in another kiss,
I feel myself surrender to the flame that rises up.
Once more I am arching within your arms,
strong, gentle hands contain me, stoking the fire.

I am released, free to feel all that is within –
to bring it to the surface; without question - to share…
The heady scent of longing fills me, fueling passion
The ice, a forgotten prelude to love’s rendezvous.

Lin Cava ©