~O~
His whispers grace
as heather soft
against pastel
her face;
~O~
In the blush of passion
rent and sighed
to she; His hands
in her hair, coaxing
to satin and pink
the bloom on her lips,
pouting in chorus
to his rhythmic
harmonies
played lilting in echo,
each to the other;
~O~
He traces his hands
through the silk
tressed
to her waist; Drawing
lightly her rapture
in silhouette
against his chest,
he brings her lyrically
to close, a melody
in harmony
born on the timbre
of the flute.
~O~
~haze
08/27/99
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