My body awaits your soft deflower,
not yet past the witching hour,
as you lay bare my outer skin
to steal my quickening, once again.
We stand and stare at each other’s face,
ignoring starched linen, satin, and lace,
and gaze into the other’s eyes
in mute amazement, silent outcries.
Do we dare to touch the other’s cheek,
or move still closer, feigning being meek?
We brush our lips with velvet hands.
And gently kiss, where love commands,
Our fingers play through flowing hair,
then face to face, our hungry stare,
with mouths agape, our breaths we share.
Shall we go on, in rapture’s dare?