O, Precious...
Grant my hands
the pleasure to roam the roots of your locks upon my chest
Let me breath the air that sustains your beating heart..
It is my air, it is my heart.

Your warmth is my bed
where our sweat beads collect in exhaustion
My sweet baby... the twitching is exquisite
when you caress them with intention
Please bury me yet with your cradling leg, possessive and proud,
as I gaze into endless space
where the impossibility of meeting you
is rendered mute by our fate.

There is a reason for your scent
dancing in the playground of my brain
Or the placid sound of your slumber
Or the exactitude of your arms draped upon my grateful chest
They seem so right for each moment of perfection
that bears your name and mine.

I live for the thrilling anticipation of your closeness
Your hair upon my face,
your body in its sensual splendor
melded into my heathen helplessness.
And your face...
Ah, your face, Beloved,
the face of gods suspended in orgiastic playstrings,
is all that matters to me.

I am once again taken.
I am immortalized in love.