Every word you don’t speak
is simply one more
that I would happily wait a lifetime
in silence
to hear

I walked slowly
to spend more of eternity
with you, and

when you turned to
usher me closer
what you didn’t realise
was that I was
already
there

These words,
bedded by the flow of interpretation
dance;
a transhuman storm of sound
– rivulets of fancy and frolics –
washing clean the silence
with a bird call
of hidden meaning.

Sticky
and sweet
the fingers
of love
that travel down
in tingles:
a liquid storm
in nothing but
a rush of fire

Wet
and discrete
the lips of heaven
that smother
and capture with haste;
a halo so wide
that not even
lust
could quickly retire

In the peak of a moment
– at the very point of desirous recognition –
one exists in the present
only to fade into the stillness of
hungry impression;
to fade into the memory
of what might never be again.

Temptation, one’s new master of control.

Clouds drift atop the stimulus of life
– mindlessly numb voyeurs –
blindly present,
yet,
vaporously absent from blame.

If I were the ice
and you were the sun
I would
drip
until there was nothing left of me
but a reflection of you
in my puddle.