Ripe, dark grapes

As I sat on the sofa,
she suddenly left saying:
honey, I’ll be back soon.
The red roses I sent
were in on the table
in a yellow-blue vase.
Copies of the Ladies Home Journal,
Fear of Flying and Kamasutra lay
beside the flower vase.
On the wall hung a painting
of a Mogul king offering
a red rose to his bare breasted
concubine sitting in front of him,
while another poured wine
into his half-full goblet placed
by the hubble-bubble on his side.

She returned dressed just as
the king’s concubine,
but with drops of honey
on her breasts’ tips.
Sitting beside me placing
her hands on my shoulders,
she smiled and said:
my charming prince
from the land of Kamasutra,
we’ll later have supper and wine.
have mouth-full of desert first
of ripe, dark grapes of mine.

I obliged.