Naked Dice
The orange horizon has but briefly glowed,
And Dice dons her jacket, her only clothes,
And begins her departure for her nearby abode.
Her nightly motive, only the Creator knows.
Because of her spots and freckles everywhere,
Dice, I call her, and nothing more.
Nightly, her footsteps are on my stair.
She’s in no more than a jacket, at my door.
She poses and pokes her nakedness,
As if it was her own invention.
And we spend the night in silent bliss,
For which I give more than honorable mention.
Her delicate figure gleams like the moon.
And in the twilight, erotic display,
As quaint as a familiar tune,
Embellishes my evenings in this way.
Daybreak always seems too near,
For it means her parting, my dear Dice.
So I thank the Creator that she is here,
Dashing the night’s darkness with sugar and spice.
poem by Albert Price
Added by Poetry Lover
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