Daisy

I lay my soul threadbare before you.

Not feeling any less a man when you lovingly tell me I'm your flower.
Preparing myself to be watered as I join you in a relaxing shower.
"He loves me" you say as you pull my shirt over my head and off slowly.
Upping the ante of the ritual since the French usually do this with a daisy.
"He loves me not" escapes your lips as my pants fall prey to the draw of gravity.
That look you get in your eyes that speaks to me of deeper love not depravity.
Though there's a gleam in there as well, when my boxers fall off, you smile "He loves me".
"You missed one" I jokingly remark about a sock and you look at me sorely.
"He loves me not" you remove a sock, with mock hurt, after kneeling on the floor.
But like me and you, socks come in pairs. "He loves me" as you remove one sock more.
From your position on the floor your eyes meet mine as I clearly grow aroused.
My petals all removed, I'm really wanting you, let's skip the shower for now.
Your hands on my hips mixed with the softness of your lips has me feeling on fire.
As you rise and turn away, the nearby sink becomes the stage for our unyielding desire.
Both watching in the mirror as our passion burns hot until our love making's through.
At the end, I stand you up, pull you close with arms around you and I whisper in your ear..."He loves you."


© The Moonlight Bard