Black tresses.
A midnight waterfall spilling down her.
breasts.
Twin rose tips.
Smooth curved stones.
Cutting through the river's madness.
Tangles.
I want to throw a silver coin into a wishing well,
want to watch it slip below.
Down. Down.
It rest finally against her skin.
It shimmers.
look at all the wishes around her neck.
She must be a spring.
Wet and inviting.
I want to drink her in my mouth,
want to plunge inside her.
Depths.
Under her waterfall tresses.
Andrew Tipton
