Now let me help you with that stubborn clasp,
Untie your hair and let burnt auburn fall;
Let not your wanton eyes here have to ask,
As warm embrace does offer up your all;
And let me lay you on red satin down,
Slow running fingers cross white timid breasts,
Now let me whisper sweetly, soft and low,
As your moist hallowed reaches I caress;
And may rose pouting lips have want of mine,
And may my cheek fair gently brush your face;
Your kisses reminiscent of fine wine,
Our undulating forms black shadows trace.
How sweet forbidden love, my Magdalen,
And when the morning dawns, what of us then?
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.
One thought on “Sonnet 120”
This poem was like a careless look on a warm, say hot, August evening in New Orleans, unexpectedly inviting and from another time.