My dreams are of lips
the softness that sips
the tongue's liquid flow
as desires then grow
and fill open ears
with whispers and fears
that trickle and fill
the half-subdued will.
The llama may lick
and his fur rub and stick
on electrified skin
and my welter within
but his breath cannot dry
the blood in my eye
both the two that watch you
and the third that sees true -
the one on my head -
and the one that's outspread.
LRH
7.23.06
Inspired by and a reply to Gershon's 'Soft and Satin Furred'
Linda Hepner
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/llama-dreams/
