Like Moths to a Flame

Smooth, satin soft skin
flows under fingertips
as eyes strain to stay
open enveloping all
of her beauty.
Wisps of hair slowly
falling in front of
fawn-like, glossy green,
stained glass windows
to her soul.
Breath quickens while
following the flowing line
down through the perfection
of a nose to pursed lips,
supple and full.
Like moths to a flame,
I'm drawn, magnetized, mesmerized
by the soft curve of her neck
hemmed with silver and pearl.
Fingers cupped around
a clavicle so delicate
and demure.

Just picture the
innocence

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved