Douse me

Douse me in your gentle rain
cascading like freedom
spilling onto city streets.
There are no reasons why, perhaps
just for the thrill.
I am left standing
holding your orchid, plucked
tipped upward
in delicious anticipation.
Douse me in your gentle rain
was that wicked of me?
Did you edge closer, closer still?
To smell the secret spice
as ancient as the Queen of Sheba
the mist that swallows.
Stranger things have been
known to happen when i think of you.
Inside of me
crashing crystal shards
melt into pools of promises
carefully drafted, edited and bound.
They litter me with desire,
occasionally satisfied when
you deem timely.
We seep into one another
like olives marinating in an earthenware
dish, deep in green olive oil
like a child's bedcover.
Nothing will be left undiscovered
as your hand slips under the
red velvet bodice, oval shell buttons left intact.
Wrap around slowly
slower, still...
January 2003