A man of solitude
& grace
with almond eyes & feathered lashes,
serenely swathed in silken robes,
brought me
perfume from Paris,
elegant flowers & smooth chocolates
to tantalize me,
to tease my senses
without shame,
relentless.
He spoke fluently
of Gibran & Khayyam
to one aching
to learn
the many languages
of love.
He gave me his uninterrupted attention
(slightly unnerving, at first)
while words flowed between us,
a river
to remember
& savor, later,
alone.
He came with candles
already burning bright,
a handful of stardust,
luminous in his palms ~
yet,
I only
completely
fell
into sighing surrender
when he delicately
& deliciously
fed me figs,
his fingers
slowly brushing,
burning
my mouth,
ripe & sweet
with possibility...
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
'xcept he'd already been married 3 times...& hadn't divorced any of 'em. 
Customs. Ya gotta love 'em, even when they defy explanation. 
I told him he was a glutton for punishment, then gracefully declined, explaining that, as a Poet, I preferred to be original. 
He understood that, too. 
You always have the most inspiring, unique, provocative contests, my Sister. I always wanna come out to play when I see a new offering from you. Thank you for always being you. I know it's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it. 
