They move with grace like ribbons in the air;
or maybe like two cobras dancing for
their lives before enchanted eyes and where
a curious lover’s mouth could then explore.
Ivory smoothness texture draws me in
as lava feelings long-forgotten rise.
If this is just a sample of your skin,
how will your shoulders charm me, or your thighs?
But I have made a vow before the Muse
that all my actions tally with my art.
Thus only what makes poems must I choose
and only what enriches must I start.
I never in my life saw arms like this;
beneath your sleeves they cry out for my kiss.
© Alan Morrison, 2014