Shone like diamonds
That streamed your face
In silver lines
They were balm
Hot and heavy
Salty and yet so wet
Just like you
An ambrosia of
And your arousal
In a kiss yielded
From your lips
Tonight at dVerse Dee (whimsygizmo) asks us to kiss off a quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title, and use some form of the word kiss.
dVerse ~Poets Pub | Quadrille #73
You unexpectedly run your fingers gently along the side of my face and, knowing me well, before I can think to question you about it, you place your lips upon mine and we kiss.
When we slowly pull away we are breathless and I open my eyes to the dark emptiness of my room.
And realize it was only a dream.
Now, I lay awake undecided.
Am I more afraid that I won’t have that dream again…
…Or that I will.
The memory of it still lingers
Like sticky nectar on our fingers
Made the more so in summer’s heat
From the vain attempts to sluice
Our chins of honeyed peaches juice
But in a moment replete
Under the fading eye of Sol
We heed the thrill to shun control
The stolen kiss even more sweet
And this is the Nove Otto
The Nove Otto poetry form is a nine-lined poem with 8 syllables per line (isosyllabic). The rhyme scheme is as follows: aabccbddb
dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight : Week 106
Already restless, I had turned to my favored place to seek peace. I had knelt beneath the moonlit branches of the tree, letting nightingale song wash over me, when I am summoned and know not why. I am told his mood is strange. I have but moments to prepare myself, yet not test the goodwill of he who summons. Moonlight shines through the blossoming trees as I ride on the mare provided. Not finding my favorite combs, I hastily extend a hand to snatch blossoms, hoping their beauty compensates. The same moonlight shows the hurried manner of my dress.
The bright moon of night
Shines on all that can help you
And all that can harm
I breathe deep the scent of local flora as I ride along. Perfect gardens seen off in the distance are soothing. The road I travel is not. I knew not the king had returned from his sojourn; let alone have chance to know the cause this distress. The lumps I feel are more than mere nervousness. The not gentle roads jangle already frayed thoughts. My king who places a premium on the upholding of traditions, entrusts me with its upkeep. A delicate balance accomplished too well. Hours spent side-by-side this past year, yet he knows naught. My heart as improper as the lack of grace of a more appropriate attire. The night is as dark as my mood. My beloved moonlight bears me not a cheer.
The trickle of fear
Thorns that can grow sharp within
As well as without
I take in the increasing view of the palace up ahead. Its peaks rise in golden tones as though the setting sun cached its luminescence there for the night and comes now to collect upon rising. My king acknowledges my kneeling by kneeling himself. He kneels! To me! His rough, beefy hand a contrast to my pale delicate fingers. I am shocked by his most gentle of touch – our first physical contact. Ever. An embroidered gown placed in my arms, he bows. He bows! The gown is of a refinement only she who will become queen can wear. Characters of my name intricately stitched within its fine threads. My missing combs, now jewel encrusted, nervously placed on top. And like this new day, it dawns on me. He knows. He reciprocates. All protocol cast aside at our second physical contact ever – our first kiss.
Deep shades of gold sun
Extend like love’s warm fingers
Dawn a brand new day
Poetry Picnic Week 33: Fortresses, Castles, Palaces and Royal houses
dVerse ~Poets Pub | Meeting the bar – the Haibun