Daphne

By the warming

Of the wall

Where once was blossom

Now there’s peach

Pink satin

Of the softest hair

Along your arm

My touch of lips

Along the creasing

Of your wrist

Along the warming

Of the wall

The soft pale

Roundness

Of  your breast.

And yet no stone

Within the flesh

No hardness here

Beneath  the skin.

Along the warming

Of the wall

The bursting fruit

The siren call

I taste your nectar

And am caught within.

JL Aug 26 2011