What senses last when passion's heat abates <br />laid low to rest beneath sweet lover's quilt? <br />Perhaps, the taste of milky river rates <br />as well, or more, as tepid semen spilt <br /> <br />on cavern walls between receptive thighs. <br />Consider unique breath imbued with scents <br />from secret herbs that all too oft disguise <br />the wanton wench in garbs of innocence. <br /> <br />The eyes remember well what forms they see <br />nor do mute whispers pass attentive ears; <br />but feeling you of all seems best to me <br />as all of you by touch at once appears. <br /> <br />It's not what each or all the senses do: <br />they all perceive as one the perfect you.<br /><br />Lorenzo Costigliolo<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/awareness-sonnet-38/
