My velvet lady lies.
At the boundary of dreams,
Clothed only in her beauty,
Limned by soft sunlight of a breaking day,
That plays upon the contours,
That were so recently,
Mapped with silken kisses,
Whilst the brooding dark,
Watched jealous of the passion spent,
In search of sweet fulfillment.
Now she turns,
And across the pillow,
Her hair;
Moving like the wine dark sea,
Restless and alive,
Twines through my fingers,
Releasing her soft perfume and,
Remembrance of the night.