For my lovely babygirl
In our slow dance
there was a certain delicate way you knew
to graze your blithe soul against mine,
stirring all tenderness within me.
In the stillness between us.
the only music was your sleek hair
grazing my cheek like flames.
It was a reverent honor to witness
every fine sway of your spirit unbound
as you swirled for your Daddy
in beauty and courage.
The sad skim of your fingertips
was painfully brief when our song ended,
but my brute desire is to guzzle your purity
in terrible drunken glugs
before abiding our shared surrender.
It’s a sin against passion itself
if my chin is not slick with your apricot glory
and still wanting
when you leave me on wobbly legs.
The grace of your slender silken limbs
and the fragility of your shoulders
will live forever harrowed behind my eyelids,
like the sweet scent of girl on my sheets.
rhon drinkwater © 2008