Sonnet 23 - The Dance

No children tonight, no interruptions.
You ask me to build a fire, kill the light
and to cancel dinner reservations -
you say that we will be eating in tonight.

Later, meats and cheeses set aside, you
dip your middle finger into my wine
glass, paint my lower lip, then lick and chew
and tease. Wine long gone, your tongue - battling mine -

wrests sweet discovery; whimpers, whispers
and moans all our music now. You rise up
and I pursue – my hungry mouth captures
one warm breast. My goddess writhing – enough...

Heat, need, perilous passion, sweet romance -
no longer new, I would not miss this dance.