There are secrets like pale
ghosts floating on your tongue.
The curve of your eye rolls past
my gaze and its green gets
tangled in dark of my hair.
...
The silence in your words is still,
like your hand reaching for me;
my breath is caught by its
measured movement
and I am crushed by your need.
...
My skin will not beg your heat,
but crumple, bruised beneath
your cool blue passion.