Let me peel off your sunday best
and dress you down in morning light
over the curves of your soft skin
and paint you in a day dream
of little black dresses on a friday night
with lace stockings and come here

and my

     my

   my high heels

that bring kings and fools down
to begging on their knees


I could worship every inch of you
no matter the view
if you were the sun over heaven
or a grain of salt carried by an ant
a saint or a *****
queen or a vagrant
dressed to the nines
or down in the ditches
I’ve seen you in places
where beauty is found under the illusion
of the flesh worn out over our bones

I want to devour you
and give birth to a new emotion of lust
with hands capable of dissecting
the last layer of skin
on a heart beat
                      
                        beat
    
beat me into submission
let’s ride out this transmission
beyond the hand and touch
of what only mankind
would be ****** enough
to label as sin
and be the stars in a home movie
not safe to be watched
by minds lesser than gods
swimming between limbs tangled
and blurred and penetrating
while turning blood pumping
into the sweetness of honey flowing

      and drip
  
    drip

  dripping

into polls where we
transcend the limits of our imagination
and dive deeper than a last breath
and urgent gasp
of lost and found pleasure
outside of times understanding of mortality
and the endless sight of eternity
and the true nature of life’s lust is exposed
as nothing more or less
than the survival of love