Wayne Orr

: 3

In the hush of a summer night,
Beneath a streetlamp’s golden glow,
Our bodies draw like flames to shadow,
Pulses racing, hearts laid bare.

Lips brush soft, a teasing taste,
Sweet as stolen fruit, ripe and warm.
Noses graze in playful dance,
Awakening a firestorm.

Breath mingles, electric and wild,
A flush of heat, a sigh undone,
In that fleeting, fevered touch,
Desire blooms beneath the sun.