My Mistress' Bed. Poem by Desmond Okon

Oh, how luscious it feels,
Being there, Still are the hills.
I mash caution with heels,
Sweaty palms move freely, gliding,
Sailing deeply into the waters of perfection.
Easing its way through the thorax-alpines.
Through a beam her beauty shines,
Darkness gather'd the embers of passion.
Fantasy is driven to exile, there, erect!
Souls meet,
There,
Shared we lett'rs of truth, erect.
Dabbing, gadding, all went on.
Fondlin' the sleek-bright sk'n like galvaniz'd zinc.
Salty waters ran from her pores,
And rested in the bos'm of my restive tongue.
T'ere, recluse, the wor'd is idle in my mistress' bed.