Your fingers wrap up in my hair
Your legs wrap my hips
Your eyes are closed
Your mouth is open
You breath out deeply
As you let me in

Was it the wine?
Was it cherry cordials-
Sweet and smooth and sticky?
Was it the stimulation
Of conversation, over dinner
Or the absolute natural scent
Which only flowers do impart?

No.. They are but trappings
A pedestal onto which we foist
Our predetermined passion, not only
For the pleasure of the climb, but
For all that further we may fall,

And how we do fall, fall, fall...