Across thousands of miles
you lay your claim on me
with your purple stockings.

My body is your riot, full
of blood's disobedience
& a climbing incandescence.

I am your lamp. Coyly
you insinuate provocative
thoughts. I'm helpless,

I'm guttering like a candle
on a caravel, burning
despite the danger.

Thousands of miles, but
there is only me and you
and a thin, thin stretch of purple.