The maelstrom circles, patient, waiting,
lurking ever beneath my still water smiles,
ripples never to reach the shore.

As I slip a little closer; cold, I can feel -
oh yes, that blessed razor-sweet breath
burning hot against my tongue, tripping and -

and I can see you're back, burning eyelids
with our tender-stemmed secrets, always
all too ready to explode forth, exhale,

but today you sit there, still here, always -
maybe, perhaps, incessantly, please

I do not want forever, yet I pray,
stay, stay sweet, just for now
we could be nice.