Off the petal of a magnolia,
or maybe an orchid, dripped a drop.
So perfect lipped
it eased out its gift.

Dewy and crisp,
Her skin, an orchard of possibilities,
breezed through its shift
with a quiet momentum.

Her body, framed for raising,
bathed and backlit, caught my mouth
and turned. Up into the corner
pressed the rest

and never grew the wiser.
Never older, yes, well,
maybe older, but slowly fading into sweeter.
You don't really need to know her.

But I have to ask;
when you hold her,
Do you love her body's smell?