Something stirs, the clouds of Heaven part –
Of tomorrow’s essence, borrowing from my
Core; forever a delicate whisper; a tongue
Becomes the pen, skin solely for pleasure;
The tongue ensnared by its craving – desire
Seizes you by the edge of being; relishing
The sweetness of someone you love.
Cling to them, your hands remain concealed…
Your heart dances in a garden; beats towards
The harvest recognizing no limits; a body
Adorned with hair & claw – propelling the
Offering through the corridors of night.
As we give a piece of ourselves each night
We embrace; and still the forest persists,
The rhythm never wanes; in the depths,
Fingers cramping from a cramped style.
Come now. I am composed of countless
Doors – open for all of your whispers.