
Poetry by A.H. Scott, Copyright 2022
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Double Seven
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Handprint impressions of two hearts were left in the snow
Hannah and Charlie briskly walked back towards their cabin that had the firelight’s glow
Two mugs of hot chocolate were a treat for this night
Hannah held one mug in her hand and handed the other to Charlie
As they sat on the sofa, they cuddled for a spell
When Hannah took her last sip of chocolate, she was perplexed a bit
Charlie didn’t notice the date on the calendar for spit
Yet, she said not a word about what was bringing her down a peg
He finished his chocolate and she placed their mugs into the sink
As the warm soap and water whooshed, Hannah started to think
She looked over at him and saw him dozing off
Hannah tiptoed into the bedroom for a few minutes alone
As she returned to where he was, Charlie smiled at the lovely vision
Hannah was bare, except for a red silk ribbon knotted in a bow around her assets here and there
Giving a light giggle, she replied, “Just call me Cupid, stupid”
He’d forgotten what day it was, but she did not
She said the quartet words that got him on the spot, “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby”.
Hannah’s hands were like that of an archer, as she reached for Charlie’s arrow
This woman of auburn locks loved this man down to her marrow
Hannah was a perky present for cheerful Charlie of neatly trimmed hair
Man was rising, as woman remained surprising
She knew he was ready to make it up to her for forgetting what day it was
Oddly enough, that hot chocolate had given Charlie a somewhat of an energy buzz
Knot of red ribbon was done away with ever so quickly
Soft breasts and hips of Hannah’s were caressed with his aroused desire, as their bodies made that connection
He whispered in her ear, “Double seven, I’m in heaven”.
With his words and actions, this happy spouse knew it was true
Hannah realized he may have forgotten the date, but Charlie’s quick comeback of satisfying her was never late
Double seven, twice the joy; as man was one seven and woman was the other seven’s pleasurable ploy
Shall no heart ever become wane with weary, for that fourteenth day always arrives every February
As the fire continued to crackle, both were sweaty and spent with an effervescence of play
Each whispered to the other, “Happy Valentine’s Day”
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About The Author: A.H. Scott is a poet based in New York City and frequent contributor to Tony Ward Studio. To read additional articles by Ms. Scott, go here:
A.H. Scott’s book: A Missed Flight is available on Amazon!