Her legs are like earrings…
Her legs are like earrings, I've never worn.
There something to be dangled,
Before the electrical storm,
Like a fig-vine she snakes through my mind.
Clad in jingling charms these veils fall…
Shedding her skin of fear
Shedding her gilt, she burns to the core.
All scales removed; she wriggles,
Curled like a frond, moist in every pore.
The jugnle has abducted her senses…
A great winding river enters her falls…
Her kisses like big sticky date's tremble.
As she slivers aside, dawns dewy-wet morn.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
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