Nuclear skin, and eyes...
Chemically bent, to erode.

Set me afire, and watch me explode--
watch me...
let the ghosts, of your Chernobyl,
become my own, and haunt me.

I'm an active field...
Yielding blackened wheat,
for a [redacted] meal.

I'm an active field...
stealing slabs, of meat,
in lacerated weals.
Watch me...

let the ghosts, of your Chernobyl,
become my own, and haunt me.

When thunder shades your brow,
I could burst the storm clouds,
looming overhead,
until a smile, reignites you,
and you glow, like a shining sun.  

When flares, of helpless pain,
snarl tender joints,
I want to find the thread,
hidden, in your bed, of nerves
and PULL it gently,
until the knot,
pops out.

I'd like to scry,
the deep, shining pool, of your eyes,
and read their formations,
like tea leaves.
I hope to exorcise the demons,
that lean over your shoulders,
and laugh,
at anything you do.

I want to take your hands, in mine,
and infuse you, with my energy.
I long to push my palm, against yours,
and see if our lifelines
kiss, as ardently as we do,
and travel harmoniously, together,
under a wake, of shimmering stars.

I yearn...to pour myself upon you,
like healing water,
and bathe, the full of you,
into the gentle tides, of me.

To tie, the nucleus
of our aching souls, together,
in a flagrant twist,
of the loveliest
flowers, and vines...
because I need you, to hold me,

to cherish me
beyond lives, that end,
beyond worlds, that collapse,
beyond stars, that explode
into supernovas
of guttering stardust.

In you...
I can see a love,
that transcends

lives, together
dimensions, apart...

and galaxies, that could crumble,
only to release more stars,
around us,
like free, and floating fireflies
in the blue-black expanse,
of sky.

What bliss, it could be,
to burn, like an eternal torch,
with you,

beyond the dark well,
of time.

What bliss, it could be,
to take your hand, in mine
and jump, beyond,

the spinning,
quiet void,
of death.

I wake, to the rhythm, of you
breaking slowly, behind my ribcage.
The orchestral swell;
the auric light, of rosy dawn...
blooming, to new life.

More, than a phantom.
More, than a phantasm.

I yearn, to be wound, around you,
in long, lingering threads,
of bruisy, purple-gold daylight,
and pull tight, as I knit myself,
around your stretched form...
soft-skinned, and sleepy...
pulling you so tight to me,
that your body barely rocks
upon the edge, of the tapestry needle.

Let my legs, be the woven fabric,
that ensnares your hips,
and pulls you, even closer, to me.
I want to feel, your rippling laughter
burble, through your chest.
I want to swim, in languorous strokes,
the fathoms, of your aching mind,
with the ease, of turning your thoughts:
flipping through its dog-eared pages,
like the well-read chapters,
of a readily studied, book.

My arms, seek to hold you,
and cradle you, to me,
lips, pressed to your skin,
plush, and satin pillow soft.

I want to devour you, in rapacious,
repeated kisses...I want to feel
the spring-coiled tension,
above your shoulders, snap, and unwind
relaxing, in helpless surrender,
at my nymphic touch,
as the rest, of you...hardens, like resin
and then melts away,
between my own spread,
buttery thighs.

I want to be so filled,
with the full, of you,
that you spill over, and escape...
I want to clutch your face,
in the tenderness of my fingertips,
and lose myself, in the labyrinth
of your lovely, dreaming eyes.

I need you, like flowers,
need gentle rains, to bloom.
I desire, you...like the prime, of night,
awaiting the the rising moon.

and I wait, for you...
like the guitar string solo,
in a beloved tune.