Through the Looking glass
Alice stands in all her splendor.
Her hair a curtain of silver rain,
her soft skin aglow in subliminal light.
A compelling fever rises
as Thomas tries different ways to pull
her up in memory
while writing himself into the tale.
Poor Thomas delirious in his dilemma, he knows
this will be no easy seduction.
How fiercely urgent his desire rises
as he longs to end our heroine's self-imposed abstinence.
Hot April morning ambush,
and our intruder has beguiled our sweet Alice
with heated kisses sweeter than ripened fruit.
A wildness stirs in the bloodstream.
Now he slowly and lovingly explores her pristine body
as she shivers beneath his delicate strokes
until high trills rise to fevered pitch.
Pleated line of sky
muted corners softly come into focus.
Loathe to let her go,
passion stirs in his depths
slowly now he tastes her secrets, shares her pleasure.
Tight buds of anticipation tenderly plucked,
his fingers find the stem, a measure of moisture;
Nimble fingered harmonies play pleasure symphonies
accompanied by soft echoes of youthful delight
Warm and breathless, crystal rainbows paint the inside of her eyelids as she grows sleepy in afterglow.
Soon he's torn away, his pale poet's face conveying pain
received from this now cool disconcerting beauty;
Though he touched folds and frills of every petal,
his chapter is immediately erased and the
original story reappears.
She may have slipped down the rabbit hole,
but forever ladylike and pure is our sweet Alice.