Woman of repose,
divinitys puppeteer
secures your plexus,
arc of moon-milk flesh,
you roll your ache
in the arch of your back.
A nectar tear glides down
your sanctum riverbed thigh,
warm ambrosia rain pools
in the kernel of your valley,
as desires serpent slithers
over ribs that cage
your cloudless heart.
Crowned abandonment
lingers at the gates of Eden,
clement breezes cascade
down the sheer
of your morning dew throat
as beauty
lays a kiss
on the tip
of your chin.
