Linens

She runs her hand across the crisp coolness
And smooths a wrinkle that's not really there:
It's not as if the lovely girl should care
For marks and stains will soon surely impress;

They'll spoil the fluffy fullness with the weight
Of heads and hips and thighs; and add the scent
Of sex to linens that just complement
The candles and closed curtains, which must wait;

The close encounter of pressed limbs are more
Than the fulfillment of a need expressed,
While she refines the hope she'll be replete;

Once pulsing tempos rise, they'll fill the core
Of sexual beings, which, as she's caressed,
will lie, entwined, upon this crisp, cool sheet.