In the cool of the evening
Away from prying eyes
To the arms of her beloved
Her tender skin in flames
Sparked up his desires
As she took off her clothes
His heart raced like a hare
How could he tell her
She was about to burn his garden
When his manhood had arisen
To the delightful sensation
How could he call her Delilah
Knowing she was the choir mistress
Under whose ministration
Many fell for the anointing
And now, he was falling
For her lusciously shaped legs
Sinking like a needle
In the succulence of her lips
Melting like a candle
Loosing wax with every thrust
Dying in the cradle
From the dagger of lust
(c) Chuks Obi 2017
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