marshmallow

by Ann Foxglove

Sunday 25th April 2010 4:39 pm

I stand behind her

in the bedroom

by candleglow flicker.

She presses back against me

soft, lilting,resting, nesting.

 

Her hair tickles my face.

Closing my eyes

I run my hands over her.

So many curves this woman has!

And in the delicacy of night

she feels like . . . . marshmallow.

 

I cup her breasts

so full and round
now mine to hold.

A gentle weight.

 

My hands glide over

her gentle woman's belly

and rest

one on each hip.

My fingers press and squeeze.

And she feels so soft

like . . . . . marshmallow.

 

A woman should be thus,

soft for me to take.

I lift her gown

and scoop my hand upon her mound.

Some light gold hairs

whisp against my palm.

 

And then, and then,

below, between, between

where all is sweet and softly melting

like . . . .  marshmallow.

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