The immoderate cries of the songbirds
Beckon to my memories,
Your broken gasp, your slow, shuddering bones
Remnants of wings
Trapped in your shoulders,
Embarked on the voyage
Of your hips.
A small opera plays across
Your face.
In the wilds of your hair
My fingers dive
All five of me uncomb your hair.
O Masada,
Alibis are gathering.
My fingers again itch
for the world of your touch.
Can you keep a secret?
Not supporting cheating, just inspired by some, er, frustrations.