With the finger paint

Pink and living

Ridges and swirls

Pressing the cello ‘tring

On the belle of life


And the cat-gut

Stretch of a feline



Arching its back

Across the hint

Of attraction


And the fluttery-buttery

Eyelash tickle

In the neck’s secret nape


And the bowstring quiver

As the belly dances

A teenage tune


Of blushes and wants

And messages

Bottled on a rising tide


And the careful

Word left unsaid

In case it wasn’t misread


But the tint

Of the hint

Is there


And can be denied

If the jury case

Was ever




In the catcher’s glove

Is held the first

Breath of



And the floating tipple

Fairy fly

Now casts its ripple

Upon the frond

Of the summer’s

Mills dream pond


And now tugs

Upon the line

And coyly toys

The wings of time


And feeds the drying

Skin of doubt

And starts

To let the feelings out


And the testing parry

Teases and warms

And probes the depth

Of his charms


And the gentle

Gentle praise

Hints that yes

She wants his ways


And that single tingle

Trickles down his spine

To make and to take

This woman to be as mine


And that first electric touch

That of course

Doesn’t really

Mean that much


Breaks the space

For all time

And holds the waist

That feels so… fine


And allows the tender dance

To pick the first pizzicato note

And as she shivers too

A quivering quaver is now wrote……