In a summer sangria-laced brow sweat
Moist palms down to my fingertips,
Laptop key-tapping with the strangest vigor
Woman, I swear, I can taste your ruby lips

So subtly sweet, allow me the imaginings
As I place my washed hand astride your face,
The precious elements contained in your skin
Inspire me to touch thee at an elegant pace

Haliyah, oh beautiful and humble one, you
Rendered me, have you, an admirer from afar,
The writer you say that equally lives in you
Requite this poem, woman, my heart’s door’s ajar

A dangerously provocative proposition, I know
But the fault lies with you for being so soothing,
To the eye of a creative man locked in by COVID
The temptation, however, of your fragrance is oozing

Out of the ether, my monitor, your photo appears
That to-mid-sternum-unbuttoned summer shirt,
You wear it exquisitely, no other princess can
Forgive me the essence of this poem’s seeming flirt

I can’t help it . . . if I wanted to, I couldn’t help it
Even if I could . . . you’ve put lyrics in my ear,
Come away with me to western-most Morocco
Across the lobby of Hotel Esmeralda you’ll appear

Veiled by a Chantilly lace mask and billowy dress
I’ll match your summer white to leave no doubt,
That simpatico is this mysterious attraction
Only we know what this private story’s about

Haliyah, woman, you rapture me, don’t capture me
In the middle of a pandemic—I’m locked away,
Though, I swear, I’ll come to you were you to beckon
Take the next flight would I this Pamper-Her-Friday . . . .

All up in my mind, you,
Rg2

_______

***
Pamper the woman . . . even from afar. -Rg2

© 2020 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®