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Robert L. Martin

Silk

Silk
 
The embodiment of pleasure is one called silk
It slides across my skin and through my heart
It massages every pore and every yearning
Like a new bride on a new night at a new dawn
 
Silk is called she as her skin inflames my heart
She stirs my passion with her smooth white body
My every caress is like touching an angel
That moves toward me with its warming
 
With my heart inflamed, I melt with rapture
As melodies within my heart take form
We float into heaven on a sensual journey
To where troubadours go with their soft violins
 
A song to silkworms and their lustrous yarns
Spinning love into a beautiful cloth
Light enough to please naked bodies
Strong enough to cover their secrecy
 
Like soft arms of mothers and saints
Like paradises of infants yearning
We rest our heads on its velvet cushions
Our dreams fulfilled and our spirits soothed
We owe our pleasure to that devoted silkworm
That faithful little servant who knows no other
An ode to her and what she does to me

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