There is a place
She's never been.

Fruit of the blackthorn
Sloe flavored gin.

Where whispers skate
On nervous skin,

Tongue twisters bate
Exquisite sin.

There is a place
He's never tarried

Sweet dark wine
From summer berry.

Where time ticks by
In hallelujah silence.

Anticipation
Is pleasure's parlance.

©Naomi Marshall 2018