solstice

solstice

Fingers trace your spine,
cross over hips,
caress the divine
and feel the sun’s midday heat
spill down upon our satin altar.

I bow my head in supplication,
your sweet offerings
pulsing with ripe desire,
the fruit of the solstice
begging to be plucked.

 

Copyright © 2011 by Christopher Chaffin – All rights reserved

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About cjchaffin

Wordsmithing is my passion. I eat, sleep, and breathe words and phrases, only to regurgitate them and pray that they are better off than when I first ingested them.
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