He conjures conscience
constable of contrived control
pontiff in a pool of dogmas
commanding total touch
filigree lover, a shadow-figure
poses in folds of his focus
I am flush
He is the fury
Two isotopes fashioned for synergy's
ping-pong pleasing poetry
The poise
that invokes,
magic... Sticks and midnight
Strokes.

Magnanimously.

I try to bring love
as if it were the last remedy
in this, our irrelevant reluctance of relish,
our satin satire,

when we swell, swirl, swish
somehow we understand
kindled by this kink
kissed by kismet's lending allure
Luridly
He is the murk
Once I was the pure...

He stirs manx and mesh
a mint-tingle on my flesh
an open oyster
which offers black pearls
And quicksilver hush
Wrapped in a maddening shell
he is my guilty blush
I am his kiss and tell...