Of liquid grace and silken skin

Soft, like skirts of silk,
Your silken voice like honey pressed against bare skin,
The rustle; that whisper told with every move,
Of grace unfolds…
Slipping down, with liquid grace that deep earthly kiss,
That sigh unlaced,
That phantom touch, that glistening voice, the deep seated echo
In my mind lay still…
A drop of manna, a roof of cloud woven and sealed, of liquid grace
I must confess I sing of every night, when the cold wraps around,
Clammy arms my carriage, but within lay that warmth,
That bubble, brazen until bronze, filling every empty space
With seas bereft, forlorn, until the voices call:
‘Hey, ho! Sing along the prayer for the rain!”

She dances, my sprightly elf, my skin a slave to her every breath,
Scented like the musky dew, drifting with a song anew,
Thunderous voices, the herald rings my heart with gladdened speech
Hey, ho! Sing along, the prayer for the rain,
Hey ho, voices echo, gathering strength with the mingling songs of old,
Blazing altars, dews gathered to form that shape which flits in my mind,
Faery like, with skirts of silk
That rustle deep, the emptiness sucked within, brimming with the
Peace that sings of liquid grace and silken skin…