of being rolled on the thighs of virgins in the moon light.
Apart from probably being confused with Cuban cigars,
such imagery demands poetry.
Ode to a soft cheese
Can love be any more innocent than this?
The sublime adoration of the pure;
Silken smooth, the essence of all we wish
To be ours: virginal, white, demure.
Heady aromas carry us a far
To where, moonlight awash, visions vestal,
Roll and squash, legs a tremble; thighs ajar;
Food of angels on a plate celestial,
Heavenly cheeses, to make someone swoon.
The ladies then wash, their work is well done;
In bathed innocence they dance in the moon
Oblivious to the magic they’ve spun.
Beneath the trees, with my glass of wine,
I enjoy at ease what cannot be mine.
No apologies. © J Cosmo Newbery.