Gently Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Gently sway me with the swishing of the wind
as it laps like butter through the window. Feel
me with the feather of your hand, and we shall make
such wonderful promises of touches yet to come.
A shirt dashed forgotten on the chair; pants on
the floor tossed with force in careless heap. My
underwear a blob of white on the bed. Softly hold
me as if your holding was salvation for my soul.
The smell of lilacs wafting in the air, like shifting
shadows from the bush by the stairs. Outside
the day is demanding attention, busy patterns
of tension striding like enemies in a war. Inside
there is only we two, lying like naked children
playing naughty games with one another. Paint
me with the colour of your yearning heart which
pumps the blood of desire. I am as open as an
overturned bottle on the counter, my contents
spilled like jam across the toast. We have not
any idea what hour it is, for we have lost all
track of that which counts the time. I sigh with
the shivering of lust-filled hope on this brittle
summer's day. Let us be the swaying of the trees
on the jagged rocks of flesh. So marvellous are
the clean crisp sheets that we have made into
our island retreat. We join, in age-old fashion, one
to another in caressing embrace.
Gently sway me with the swishing of the wind
as it laps like butter through the window.