Touch my mantle; the chandeliers are still dead.
Our emotional memoirs are yet to be read.
Our feelings are set ablaze with shades of fiery red-
Inner selves waiting patiently to be truly led...

Touch my lips, the sacred game has only started
And your full, firm thighs are willing to a parted.
Let our tongues savour the aroma of the dark
And our emotions be conceived by just a tiny spark.

Touch my hair, the journey hasn't been finished;
Let us recreate the sounds of nature till our breath is diminished.
I am the swift tiger and you, a wild tigress-
Our bodies in rhythmic harmony, let us not digress.

Touch my chest, our adventurous quest is complete,
Your deep well, filled with living water that I, the bucket, secrete.
Our feelings perish as quick as the sweep of eyelashes.
But like the elegant phoenix, they are reborn from the warm ashes.
21st January,2009.

Franklin O. Castellanos

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/aroma-of-night/