I am bored
well beyond the lines of acceptable decor.
The doodles of your insinuations
rearranging constantly behind my eyes.

I found lust scribbled
upon a bathroom door;
caught your scent roaming
long and semi~stimulating
corridors...

And thought on
dreams not unlike the many
tides spent upon shores too gritty;
the empty
eyes seamed to horizons
you would never watch re~rise
along with me...

My simply hewn sun;

Saturn is a turn too distant
to your umber satellite cusp.

And Venus, just a trace
of voluptuous orbit an inch
outside the reach of your tongue.

If I thought to provide a hint...
It might be seen as
a moonlight trail gracing tips
of canyon sharp night.
A bend and gasp of heaven height

that never quite fits.