In the phosphorescence of blue-black light
her skin pales, as if frosted snowy white,
contra lips the black-red of dried blood.
Cheeks stained with the high red of wine
and the exquisite coterie of her breasts
ascends above her bodice; twin moons rising to beguile.

She reclines in repose meant to beguile
and he observes from beneath the light
as her own digits trace her breasts.
Areolas, dark against her white
skin, as if tinted by drops of wine;
in his vision appearing as drops of blood.

His kisses are proposed to stir the blood;
skills of mouth and lips contrived to beguile.
He approaches her, mind faille from wine
she is oblivious to any beyond the light.
He, affected by her flesh of gossamer white;
his view descends to the sphere of her breasts.

With the rise and fall of breath; breasts
heave, nipples pebble when a single line of blood
trickles over her skin and gown of white.
Now inviting his gaze, with thighs that beguile;
milky thighs, like placid seas, glisten moist in the light,
seduce his touch; he drinks of her like wine.

Accepting her brackish, thick and tepid wine,
his mouth moves from thighs to breasts.
She sighs, closes her eyes, opposes the light;
he revels in triumph, tasting of her blood.
Victorious, his eyes, touch, and bite beguile,
smiling, his teeth draw crimson from white.

All the while through teeth fierce and white
sanguine liquor flows, efficacy like wine.
His touch upon her skin serves to beguile;
he maintains his tempo, feeding at her breasts,
drinking of her lineage; his power, her blood.
Oblivion coerces her beyond the light.

Aurora’s light advances hot and white
over wine-mottled heavens, traverses like blood
upon the breasts of the horizon, and still his eyes beguile.

© 2003 Sharon Moore. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.