Annabelle

Warm-skinned and lithe dancer, 

she stuns the tongue to the point of numbness.

And a brisk breeze, deep like the water wells,

scampers 'neath the undergrowth

through which I crawl to touch her body. 

A touch is imagined.

And I observe the to-and-fro motion of the water

as her cherry lips beckon with such devilish intent.

And a love so subtle blossoms like mock orange

in the depths of the cold season.