In your warm grasp, I shiver,
wet eyes across my skin, burning gaze,
turned to liquid in your passion-clad embrace.

Caress my flesh gently, my love,
my skin is fragile against your inferno--
your cheeks are coral-flushed and peach.

Legs clasped by tangled sheets, knees bruised and knobby,
they clatter and creak, augment my vulnerability,
your breath is sweet and welcoming. I breathe.

Your lips are chapped and precious,
in their rosy, saccharine spread,
my own quiver in their intensity.

Don’t love me too hard, my porcelain dear,
my plains stretch long and ador-flushed.
They ache for you and your cooling touch.