sweet purple wet flesh
first bite of plum delicious
your tongue licks my chin
sensuous
Summer Kiss
sea salt licks tart sweet
your kiss, standing on the shore
waves crash, passions soar
Icing on the Cake
The flat smooth spatula
dips in sweetness
slowly connects with layers
methodically swirls its thickness
then dips again, rises again
and moves in circles
across the top of delicious.
Season Temptress
Flirtacious, sultry summer
sizzles then rains cool
young men strut shirtless
female bosoms tempt their eyes
summer slyly bares their lust.
I do enjoy the Tanka syllabic form: 5-7-5-7-7.
Gives a little more leeway than a haiku:
when 17 just won’t do.
Metaphor
Her red silk scarf
tossed aside in passion
lies still on dew kissed grass.
A slight breeze unfurls,
curls beneath its folds
ripples flow from edge to edge.
The morning storm
not expected,
rolls in stronger gusts.
Gossamer strands arc
higher and higher still
until vivid crimson
shatters darkened skies.
Off-Season Romance
We waited
consumed with work
climbing the ladder
no time for escapades.
Now, in our winter years
past summer’s torrid heat
we meet on cool chilly nights
sailing into our dreams.
Your gentleness touches me
beneath a black sky lit by stars
until we blossom
in this off-season romance.
Written in response to the DailyPost Photo Challenge to interpret “off season”.
Photo is from Provincetown, Cape Cod. Muse to many a poet and artist.
Summer Peach
Peach juice dripped
indolent rivulets down her wrist,
as she felt the soft blushing
fuzzy peel on her tongue
and tasted its cool sweetness.
Passion
Heat, sun, sweat.
Summer, like passion
burns deep.
Sounds of Night
The Victorian house groans awake
as a full harvest moon winks
through faded window shutters,
thrown wide open.
Smiling dead faces
in wallpapered hallways,
listen from chipped gilt frames
roll their eyes in sepia wonder.
Walls thick with memories
absorb the sounds,
sweet words whispered
mount to passionate moans.
Floorboards squeal
as casters roll in well worn grooves,
planks of wood etched
with scars of love.
This bed of generations,
alive again tonight.
Sea Salt
Savoring the sea salt on my lips,
I remember how it tasted on your nose,
the nape of your neck and so much more,
those delectable three months
when you were my summer man.
lillian the home poet 