The grip was practiced and secure, <br />an ambience of her humid heat, <br />she'd tamed a wandering troubadour <br />and found this luxury retreat. <br /> <br />She liked him passive and supine, <br />no selfish touches to confuse. <br />Tall candles and red summerwine, <br />all conscious thoughts were just a ruse. <br /> <br />He'd liken it, she knew his mind, <br />to a long piston on the move <br />tied to a spring that would unwind, <br />while tracking neatly in its groove. <br /> <br />Men were soo technical, of course <br />all wheels and bearings, bolts and nuts, <br />she felt the life blood of a horse <br />yet always clasped their silly butts. <br /> <br />She liked explosions, always had. <br />Small tremors, building to a wave, <br />volcanoes always scare a lad <br />and swallows represent the brave. <br /> <br />Convulsions was the word she used, <br />a sudden hint of laundry bleach, <br />a tiny smile as if amused <br />and stirrings in her private peach. <br /> <br />' You DO? ' He was in shock and awe, <br />she said 'I thought it was the thing! ' <br />Two bodies, hot and in the raw, <br />an eros arrow, would it sting? <br /> <br />A symbolism then descends, <br />embraces hot and tender skin. <br />Inhaling fragrance it suspends <br />all time and reason, deep within.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/she-does/
