She is falling softly on the floor with thin muslin <br />Taken down nervously from shoulders. <br />As will o' the wisps on swamps <br />Hands turning white with glow of the moon <br />Hastily to wilderness bodies are wandering <br />In order to get lost in delight. <br /> <br />She is tilting the head with gilding of the weight <br />Of soft waving hair with storm-tossed sea. <br />She is searching for the stronger backrest, stopping <br />The pressure of the hurricane of desire what kind of Thrusting <br />the ship onto an iceberg, wants with frenzy <br />To heat it up and to melt. <br /> <br />She is finding the road for oneself only known <br />At the longed-for target. <br />He, patient in his rush knows <br />That altogether climbed peaks they will record the image <br />Of unrivalled champion <br />Of elaborate caresses and delights of imagination <br /> <br />In her eyes.<br /><br />Maria Barbara Korynt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-passion-2/
