Her body

 

Her Body

 

Her body is my playground

A wonderland of curves and lines.

Of sweet breasts and urgent nipples.

Of rolling hips and elegant thighs.

 

Her body is my canvas

A perfect page on which to paint my words,

to daub my prose,

to  scratch my spidery, inky, dangerous poetry.

 

Her body is my church

A hallowed and sacred place

A holy ground on which to worship

And adore.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Henry Asencio

I wrote this a year ago. But you might have missed it.