Thursday, 8 June 2017

Breasts by Candlelight

by Myra King


She steps out of
going-away clothes
like a dainty dancer
white waxed thighs,
meet in shadow's flickering
vertical line
to a promised entry.
Curves carve the darkness
a silhouette
worthy of the greatest sculptor.

Wedding day's froth and ritual
gone
lost in love light's flame
for, before life
sped her on her way,
the always serious friend
showed a different face,
pressed a candle, thin
in its golden holder,
into her hand.
Take this,
she'd whispered,
and give him
a night
to remember.