A River Runs There

C. Davis @mrs_mesha_davis

Image by C.Davis

The fleshly object of man’s desires,

Has lips filled with honey, hips drunk of wildflowers.

Breasts full and shaded, by course onyx hair,

Seduction, overflowing—A River Runs There.

Thighs intricately sculpted, like they bore droves of slaves,

Freckled sunbaked arms, map the paths of her ways.

Brown-bourbon eyes, fancy, long lashes flared,

Most bewitching, when she walks, yet—A River Runs There.

Complexion of toasted caramel, rifts adorn her spellbound smile,

Commands the knees of imploring men, to cower there a while.

Her voice softened over, like a Siren’s silk-spun air,

Enchanting, Vixen, Succubus, indeed—A River Runs There.

Hypnotically soliciting, the perfection of her touch,

Does she blind the eyes of dreaming men for sacrifice and such?

Inebriating poison, her victims merciless in prayer,

The devil finesses, her fingertips, though—A River Runs There.

Enticing milk and honey flows, from within her inner thighs,

For men who hungrily indulge their thirst, both far, and near, and wide.

Liquor drunken and clouded favors, empty their pockets with fare,

When friends become strangers, and exist no more, still—A River Runs There.

Empathically absorbing, the company, she has kept,

Midnights, long in number, does she exhaustingly accept.

Tantalizing the superficial is nature to her affairs,

Yet endless pain of remorse’s shame, whisper stories—A River Runs There.