voluptuous, like velvet,
but long and lithe, too . . .
her eyes alone do it,
as if her breasts
weren't what you'd die for
or her thighs the miracles
you thought whose time had passed;
come close
and the petals of her passion
close about you;
her fingers threaded vines,
her lips poppies,
the vapor of her loins
like belladonna.
John Capista's poetry has appeared in Limestone Circle and Romantics Quarterly, and is forthcoming in The Mid-America Poetry Review, Tundra, and Gin Bender. He lives and works in Wynnewood, PA.
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