Touch my mantle; the chandeliers are still dead. <br />Our emotional memoirs are yet to be read. <br />Our feelings are set ablaze with shades of fiery red- <br />Inner selves waiting patiently to be truly led... <br /> <br />Touch my lips, the sacred game has only started <br />And your full, firm thighs are willing to a parted. <br />Let our tongues savour the aroma of the dark <br />And our emotions be conceived by just a tiny spark. <br /> <br />Touch my hair, the journey hasn't been finished; <br />Let us recreate the sounds of nature till our breath is diminished. <br />I am the swift tiger and you, a wild tigress- <br />Our bodies in rhythmic harmony, let us not digress. <br /> <br />Touch my chest, our adventurous quest is complete, <br />Your deep well, filled with living water that I, the bucket, secrete. <br />Our feelings perish as quick as the sweep of eyelashes. <br />But like the elegant phoenix, they are reborn from the warm ashes. <br /> 21st January,2009.<br /><br />Franklin O. Castellanos<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/aroma-of-night/
