She steps from the shower
a vision of warmth and water and light.
Steam still clinging to her skin,
drops tracing paths down her shoulders,
the air itself seems to hush for her.
That towel, drawn so tight
to guard her beauty.
Shapes that his hands still remember
the soft curve of her lovely breasts,
the gentle hollow where shadows meet.
Brushing the top of her thighs
her chaste it barely hides.
And when she bends to comb out her hair,
for a split second, what makes her a woman is there.
Too fast to know, to dark to see,
but enough for his imagination to run free
Each breath she takes
loosens his control,
and he wonders if she can hear
how her nearness makes him ache
not just to touch,
but to worship.
If she looked at him
only that
the wordless permission
would be enough.
He would come to her gladly,
to honor the woman she is.
Knelling before her
hungrily drinking,
the scent of her skin
the heat of her body,
Tasting the beauty of places only he has known.
Hands grasping hips to steady,
until her release.
She…is every reason
He ever learned
what longing means.
They are usually the reason we ever learned what longing means.. and the reason we write about it… beautiful
Thank you p, Sam. Grateful for your comments.
This is so excellent. I’m really glad I read it, thanks for posting.
This particular stanza didn’t read smooth. If I may suggest…
That towel, is drawn tight
to guard her beauty.
His hands still remember
the soft curve shapes of her lovely breasts,
the gentle hollow where shadows meet.
Great writing.
Thanks for reading, and for your thoughtful analysis,Tim. I appreciate your constructive criticism very much.
My pleasure. 🙂 Awesome poem.
Incredible ink .. and so perfectly spilled ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐👍
Thanks, Nev!