Baited Sweetness

A razor’s edge through sand
tailing into a fold behind me.

Perfect trim is not a state
known by the physical

But made of the physical
and transient memories.

The sweet breath scattered
muses over her supple back

Demure shoulders where
life, it seemed, would slow.

But one cannot wait
forever.

Returning to her power,
her gift, Her.

Bowing to my lover
to let her anoint my head with her sweetness.

And the sun warmed my body.
but not again this day