The sweet
smell of a gentle falling spring rain
The sound
of leaves dancing a waltz in the wind
The rising
of the moon from a sea of blackened blue
The touch
of the sun’s warmth on a cold winter day.
The taste
of exotic spices from lands that time forgot…
…all were
just practice for the masterpiece.
The smell
of her perfume rising in the night
The sound
of her heart setting the evening’s rhythm
The rising
of her eyes to meet you in love
The touch
of her skin as darkness settles in
The taste
of her lips in the midst of passion.
The woman
is God’s Poetry perfected.
©
Sept 16, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic
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