The valley of linen

Slow honey slides through the blinds, thick and gold,
Painting rivers on crumpled cotton sheets—
They lie in soft valleys, a tender unfold
Of two bodies wrapped where the quiet heartbeat meets.
Your skin is the softest geography known,
A curve made of warmth that my palm wants to trace,
And there, in the hollow where peaches have grown,
The scent of pure sweetness just hangs in the space.

It's a cocktail of kisses, poured heavy and slow,
Sweet on the tongue where the tenderness flows,
In the valley of linen, this golden repose—
We sink in the honey of love as it grows.

She lies like a landscape the sun came to bless,
Undressed by the dawn, yet dressed all in glow,
The slope of her hip is a shoreline of yes,
The dip of her waist is where soft rivers go.
Peach-blush on her shoulders, a velvet terrain,
Her breathing a tide pulling sweet through the air,
And every bare inch is a reason to stay
Entangled in linen and golden and fair.

It's a cocktail of kisses, poured heavy and slow,
Sweet on the tongue where the tenderness flows,
In the valley of linen, this golden repose—
We sink in the honey of love as it grows.