Tryst
Poetry By Jewel E. Forga

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Bottle no. 9

Moonlight, I hear, is sage
whispers rush to meet ears.
Heady words swim in moods
of nightshade. Nine drops

I squeeze from the moon;
they fall between us
and scent the room. His lust

unwinds to midnight; lunging
through star-kissed columbine
he floats
warm, river-weary

to me. Desire loosens arms,
knees, thighs...he looks
more meltingly
than sleep or death,
such sweetness carries him.

Ambrosia teases, lifts
the garter high -- a star
skimming the night-blue air
through rose, our lips touch
softly; feathers
mesmerize like dawn. He falls

into me, the bottle stopped
and fingered
on a chain between my breasts.

 

Jewel E. Forga 2002

More Poetry:
He Pens Me

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Bio: Jewel E Forga, a Native Californian, is a Member of San Diego Writers' Cooperative, and Writer of copy for San Diego Urban Online Magazine. Freelance writer for textbooks, she is published online in a few fine e-zines, and has older works archived in print. Her more recent poems can be viewed at: Writers Monthly, & Pierian Springs