that light tip of the hip,
a coquetry from the bat of an eye,
fingers crawling heavenly around my back,
fluttering butterflies caged in my mind,
thin lips puckered as words uttered swim,
whim of roses and white wine line the table,
able to massage your heart with a smile
while the bonfire morning rages on.
I'm unable to verbally say how I feel,
but it's meaningless unless I can't yield to my heart.
