Image by Ichigo121212 from Pixabay
gripping the path like we ain’t gettin’ no younger
master bedroom,
tinted garden-green
with golden glints
of morning
sun rises
with my grip
on the circle of
your hips
we circle back
to forest-hidden roads
traveled in youthful
exuberance
wizened
upon shared intimate
garden paths
wicked giggles
yield the voice-box
to guttural yearnings
***
Written for dVerse Quadrille #85 – Raising our Poetic Voices, hosted by whimsygizmo. Other poets have contributed here.
Also shared at Real Toads The Tuesday Platform, hosted by Rommy.
Hephaestus’ Waste & Cosmic Rubble 
These lines are particularly fetching:
“sun rises
with my grip
on the circle of
your hips”
🙂
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Wicked giggles and guttural yearnings – most excellent juxtapositions!
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The song is well matched with your frisky poem.
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Intwined in the magic Barry – excellent write.
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I love the shift in time from the ‘grip on the circle of your hips’ to ‘we circle back to forest-hidden roads’ – a great way to evoke a memory, Barry!
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I, too, admire the circling, both past and present. Lovely to read you, Barry.
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Loving that wicked giggles!
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