Golden, firm, and delicate breast
Of my lover which adorns her chest.
To place my face upon and rest,
Embrace: two in one lover’s nest.

These are not the gifts of a mother.
Not touched, or mouthed for white milk,
Nor to suckle and feed any brother,
Within the mouth that’s like wet silk.

No, these are the touches and kisses of romance,
Who adore right now the curves of mountainous France.
By adore I mean devour
And drink this nectar that does not sour.
No milk so sweet as her love that be:
When she: looking down; belongs to me.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s