Part One – anticipation

She lives in no17 and Max factor
Takes a man
To be lovers lips
The sugared slipping of gloss leaps
And he must taste
Fresh lilacs second skin
Like Lycra fits hips unforgiving in allure
so curves open like a chord
The inner, the outer, the living
The puckered pout is pure
A suckered siren breathes out
gasping moment thanksgiving
Sets the scene for the
moment shouts muted
An internal wave of passion
In an opera of tenderness
This stage is a landscape
And I drape over you
You are my flavoured gloss
guardian of cherry red
a heated beauty of its own
streaks of fiery red
finds starch collars
like a dead give-away
And a firm grasp cannot hide
Why These lips should collide
Tempted Senses were designed for this




Part 2 - the realisation

every curve is studied
to reach be poised
the petite of the moment
as heels leave the ground
tiptoed, they had toyed long enough
and breath spirals down
to the gasping open mouthed
in a line
nested
waiting for love
almost injecting a high
to be fed
and
to quench
the parched dread of being alone

Part 3 – a reason to leave

but this is no easy ride
when rested head hits the home pillows of the jilted
playful exchanges on once crisp cotton cried
give way under familiarity
the cruelties of time
to leave the ruffled
the awkward shuffled silence beside
where was once dressed an idol, older
no longer the desire to hold her
so he rolls over
he has become
nothing more than mulled wine
a heated conception
home kisses were once sweeter than
that bitter arm of time
for his face is rounded
a filled out form
resenting every wrinkle
this paper spine is torn.