Prompted to speak,
I part my lips,
Open like treasure
Melting in white sands
That are yet silk
To glide you o'er.
Cloaked vibrantly you dance;
Undo the ties
And I will slip in between
Old things and new.
Surprised though you may be,
Do not gasp,
Lest I'll fill you.
Is that what you wish,
Sweet laden stranger,
To taste the droplets dewing?
Oh, wouldst thou say yes,
And me in turn
Would open my chest.
Golden tongued and sanguine,
We intermingling, outpouring-
That is, if you'd let me
With my fever infect you.
Curling toes, I do believe,
Soon to match thy head.
Through bushels shall I weave
My fingers to thread
Our patchwork of passion,
Our mark on the sands.