Shadow lines and fabric spilled,
skin that holds it, soundless and
delicate.
I will untie and let fall,
what you wore
landing on the feet of me,
a whisper as it settles.
There is time to take
and lines to trace on the backs
of your legs. I will decorate
you in fingerprints.
Look back over your shoulder
and let your hands
be still
at your sides,
I will kiss the spots
aching from
the day.
Love has a taste, and I've
held it in my mouth.
Didn't know sour could taste
sweet, or sweet
fringed with ****.
Your name has a flavor,
and I keep it beneath
my tongue, afraid
it will dissolve
if I move too much,
if I swirl it behind my teeth.                                          Jon York   20019