left alone with him, he undressed my mind;
bathing me in sweet acronyms,
traced upon curve in calligraphy
while whispering in prose our dreams

and...

he'd dip his quill; inking upon my skin,
noun's and verb's I'd absorb into my heart

then...

my poet, whispers again sweeping
me off my feet in syllabic count;
taking control of all my senses

while...

arching into masculinity his muse
would run wild against femininities
curvaceousness

wet...

lips began to taste his own poetic
prowess upon the breadth of me
and I'd simply smile into him

knowing...

his poetry is written solely for me and
I'd glide tongue across his lips like ink
against parchment