The Crunch of Gravel
Crunching of Gravel
&
The Tinkle of a Bell
I lay there on a downy coverlet
you stroke my soft neck with a soft pink rose.
The vacation is nearly over
and a sadness lingers in the air.
But for now we are together
in this small french hotel.
The shutters are open
and a warm breeze drifts in,
bringing with it the smell of
freshly baked bread from a small
bakery below.
The early morning sun casts a pink glow
on your naked body.
How glorious you are.
Firm shoulders, and arms.
Just caressing me with the rose
makes your bicep bulge.
Oh how I want you.
I hear the crunch of gravel below
as passersby begin their daily routine.
The bell of a rickity bicycle going by
as an old man carries his little dog
home in a basket.
The rose caresses my breast
and my breath catches.
my finger traces your lips.
The rose falls on the coverlet
Our eyes meet and the kiss is gentle
your hands move to my stomach
causing goose bumps to raise.
your fingers continue
caressing gently as the kiss deepens,
and your fingers continue their soft caress.
I find the rose and breathe in its fragrance
Passions ignite and the rose drops to the floor.
This will be our last time together
A tear forms in my eye
and I hear the tinkle of the little bicyle bell
once more.
© 2005 a_bear
(All rights reserved)
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