You like all the others
Was moth minded
Searching for flames
To incinerate the wick between your legs,
But I was more Aurora
Than bonfire,
And though you tried to slip yourself
Between these shimmering curtains
My window was softly opened as you slept
And I had slipped away before dawns fingers ever stroked your face awake.

For you see that I will no long burn
Down the forest to chase you from their depths.
Instead I will unfold myself as an orchid  
In the swamp of your misplaced memories
And let you creep though the man eating mangroves
To pluck my waiting grin

You see there are fields of tongues
Waiting for lips to ****** them
But they are all speaking in thrusts and moans,
In hidden glances and the unbearable weight of seductions
Below the belly of a girl whose gasps are unseen serenades  
In the rolling flush of night

We lock our hands together,
Because the key to release them has been
Swallowed by youth and our hours till morning
Are fading like your slipping resistance,
To letting love land its fragile feathers upon the inside of your thigh,
And then taking wing on the thermals
That rise from the friction of fantasies collision with skin.

In sin I’ll reclaim you
And consecrate our communion
In the cathedrals of your eyes.  
Even the way you hold your breath is holy
And though lips are sealed
I like the stammer of your speech
Are slipping secrets into the cavern of an ear,
Where we wait out the weather
Of a thousand spit lovers lost
Trying to douse the bon fire that burns between the legs
Of each and every human that has ever spent the night
Making love to the moon,
Cause she never shows her dark side
Only grins a crescent promise  
And laughs as if the stars were suitors
Trying to out sing her cratered mouths.
In a thousand voices she
Whispers hope to this conflicting
River of blood and bone
That make up all I have to sell
To the window shoppers who peak
Their heads into my bedroom to find me
Shaping love out of a pocket full of missed calls and shadows
Who can never drown my thirst
For a straight answer to the timeless question
Of will you still kiss me
In the morning  

She rides the winds like a whisper
But can never reach my borealis
And instead burns so sweetly
With lips of ash