Your Morning Light Whites

A poem

photo-Gabby K from Pexels

My funny anglophile,
Honeychile,
I’m sure you could fit as British
I’m sure that could be one big hat
You could wear in yr garden for tea

It’s a cliché’
But porcelain
Is the crayon I’d use for yr skin.

It’s not the naughty tickle that gets you grinning
When I kiss yr creamy creamy belly,
You forget that it calls with capitol B Beauty.

When I kiss yr bum & backside,
You ignore that it’s more than yr backthere backside.

When I explore yr inner arm, yr inner leg,
All yr inners, Inner faces,
Now you know new inner secret places,
New, even to you, you nude alabaster
.& you pray I’ll stay slow
but oh
you go
“go faster”.