She is many tastes,

She is many tastes,

From salt to sweetest sugar,

Smoky molasses

That hints of exotic places,

Kicking away the traces,

And walking the silk trail,

Lying together

On a hay bale.

Drinking champagne

In fine bars,

Eating in restaurant cars,

Blending aromas,

Hot with the passion

Of the orient,

And the magic of the mystic.

Bathed in waves,

Rich with promise

Of rose water,

The fruits of the forest,

And the heady scent

Of summer.

With a gentle morning

Breeze blowing through

An open window,

She carries me

With her.

And together we

Share the hidden places,

That flow and meld

With honeyed dew,

Ripe for bursting.

And in tasting

Such rare delights,

That spring, as a single

Drop

On her hot skin,

And cling to

The soft down

That grows so finely

On her nape

Unto the curve

That forms her.

For just a moment,

I believe I know

Her secret.

Until it melts away

And the mystery

Of her sweetness,

The most sacred

Thing I have ever tasted,

Still eludes me.

For yet another day.