Your tonque speaks the metaphor of the oar.  noiseless, fluent, it defines a
perfect path for two arousing hearts to entangle into
one inseparable strand of embrace.

It arcs and dips its wooden blade in unmoving water.  Like a nascent poem, it rises and breathes into one particular shape, your mind wants.

There is wisdom in the drift of the oar,
as it pulls a lost cannoe from mute running in the still water of night.

Grant me then, oh goddess, one  moment in time, to relish your sublime verse of passion... without a trace of lament in your heart.

And speak to me
in whisper... In whisper.