Breathing Her Scent

Two long-stemmed glasses stand
erect, beside pinot noir's nosegay,
blood-red dark against immaculate,
white linen. Rich and full-bodied flavor
perfumes a trembling zephyr breathing
in the space between two auras
listening to the dusk. As one lays two
long-stemmed roses before
the other, he opens the bottle,
and splashes a few wine sips
into the glasses. His eyes
never leave her gaze. As the man
hands his lady a glass, their fingers
linger close - static, electric. Drink's
first blush passes over her cheeks
before she even sips the crystal chalice.

Glasses clink.
Lips open.
Tangy flavors elicit
a chilling shudder.

The way he cocks his head in conversation
and her penchant for hearing more in his words
than he thought spoken, draws a warm bath:
a luxuriant reverie, laughter filling the night.

Warmth's glowing aura,
a surrounding steamy haze,
rises from their
conversation's spa.

Eyes sing in harmony, he grasps
her waist in an arm's crook,
whisking her onto life's dance floor.
Dizzily twirling, their hearts thump wildly
and they fall into night's embrace.
Stars surround them, winking approval.

A nightingale's soft voice
cuts through silence
with a soothing trill;
and silvery streams
falling to Earth from the Moon
glimmer upon sparkling eyes.

His chest wells up
a bloody bead,
the heart's teardrop;
and as she sighs, contentedly,
into his slowly rising and falling
torso, he circles his arms
around her silky flesh,
breathing her scent.