Spices
In the tang of winter warm
and summer cool,
the taste and smell
of crumbled
cinnamon,
the gentle brush
against the velvet grain,
his backhand stroke
of sprinkled golden down
grazed her nape
to hold her
firm and long.
His hand slipped
guided
by a finger cool
and teased
down
the heart folds
of her spine.
She closed her eyes
and took
his honeyed strength
knowing
she must drown
in the nutmeg taste of him.
----
Published in 2001 in Ex Tempore and in 2003 at Mind Caviar.
and summer cool,
the taste and smell
of crumbled
cinnamon,
the gentle brush
against the velvet grain,
his backhand stroke
of sprinkled golden down
grazed her nape
to hold her
firm and long.
His hand slipped
guided
by a finger cool
and teased
down
the heart folds
of her spine.
She closed her eyes
and took
his honeyed strength
knowing
she must drown
in the nutmeg taste of him.
----
Published in 2001 in Ex Tempore and in 2003 at Mind Caviar.
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Author's Note
This poem came out in the launch issue of Featherlit on Valentine's Day.
Other stories by Sylvia Petter
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Valentine Day & Valentine Week 2012
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This poem gave me palpable chills. Sexy, sensuous, sexual, all of that.. A love poem in the sense of what that term implies.
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Great images.