Moroccan Romance

Marrakech Travel Blog

 › entry 2 of 2 › view all entries
Exotic is different,
different is exciting,
excitement is enticing.
Everyone is enticed.

Temptation allures,
desire is tempting,
want is desirable.
Everyone hopes to be wanted.

He had even mocha-carmel skin,
Moroccan born with a smile,
perfectly smooth Sahara lips,
waiting to be trekked across
with eyes a sunset would
stop to admire.

I didn't want to look away,
I couldn't.
My eyes were fixed like the
sparkles in his.

He moved like silk,
gliding along, collecting and setting.

Stop. Pause. Contact. Smile.

He made me blush,
like a Berber woman, I wanted
to cover myself with only my eyes
showing.
The dance of coy and predator.

Blush. Smile. Look down. Slow look up.

Contact.

He was charming, sweet and polite.
I wanted to take him home,
show him my world as I am
seeing his.

Strong hands,
capable arms, lifting and carrying.
His body was draped, covered
as was tradition.

The simplest things completed us,
he brought a spoon and our fingers
touched.

Soft. Warm. Brown. Blushing.

Smile. Contact.

I take a drink and can feel him,
standing, waiting,
such an authoritative stance.

Strength. Power. Tender. Passion.

Again the fire rises in his eyes.

Smile. Blush. Look down. Slow look up.

We could stare for generations.
He doesn't know my name,
nor I his.
Worlds and languages apart.

For us,
eyes hold no nationality.
bouhcine says:
hahhaha!what a great Poem that you posted here.Poor man,the one you were talking about!!Have you let him known about what you wrote about him.I hope so.
Posted on: Jan 26, 2009
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photo by: sweetet