mood miscellanea

SECOND FIDDLE

I'D LOVE TO BE THE CLOTHES YOU WEAR,

TO GENTLY TOUCH YOU EVERYWHERE.

EACH TINY FIBER OF THE DRESS

TO YOUR SWEET FLESH, ITS LIPS TO PRESS.

TO SMELL THE FRAGRANCE OF YOUR HAIR,

ENFOLD YOU, DEAR, WITH GENTLE CARE.

I'D HOPE THAT YOU SOME THRILL MIGHT FEEL, WHEN ROUND MY SHEER SOFT FABRICS STEAL.

BUT WHEN AT NIGHT THERE'D COME ANOTHER, DISCARDED I, YOUR SILKEN LOVER,

A RUMPLED HEAP BENEATH THE COVER,

IN JEALOUS, FUTILE WRATH WOULD HOVER,

TO SEE YOUR SUPPLE, CLINGING FORM

IN RHYTHMIC PASSION'S EAGER STORM,

AND KNOW THAT IN HIS HARD ADDRESS

YOU FELT THE MORE PROFOUND CARESS.

YET, WHEN YOUR LOVE WAS SPENT AND WORN, THIS HATED, VIRILE LOVER'D GONE,

AND YOU IN LANGUOROUS BEAUTY ROSE

AND SOUGHT AGAIN YOUR SILKEN CLOTHES,

IN EAGER HASTE ABOUT YOUR ARMS

I'D GENTLY GLIDE AROUND YOUR CHARMS, AS BEE FROM FLOWERS, THEIR HONEY SIPS, TO KISS EACH ONE WITH TENDER LIPS.

FRANCES HOWARD

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