90 pearls around the neck
softly sliding,
revealing the pinkish roundness
of your flesh.
My lips glide around
the contours
of your nakedness
rounded, humid, erected
and I feel blessed.
My tongue licks the nectar
of your soul
of your manly rigor
and it rests
on the sleeping embers
and perhaps it lingers
on the edge of darkness
softly licking
tigers of a nightingale
flicking through the night
trembling like a thistle
leaning by.
Author: Marisa Estelrich, USA, 2006
An erotic poem from: “Pictures of Words, Words of Pictures”
Illustration: Catherine Beeckman
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