Kiss me in hallways and backyards,
in barrooms, and back rooms and in basements,
enslaved with the treatment and easement of lips
twisted which time ceases to be with
and be of, to believe of lease treats of the Grand Paradis,
trysting bright lights of the night.

Give me a center to move around,
a dance to take my hands into, a wall
to build a fortress on, a body to move
motionless inside a shadow upon, fending off tides,
embodied in touching, this turnstile of heavy whetted emotions churns a fuse,
burns loose the moment that time has lead us to produce.

So cute. Impeccable,
irrevocably festive with all of the pyres night's desires
iron onto our wrists, lifting up each other's shirts,
flirting with our fine twilight dessert.
Sewn by such estranged Earth's involvement, our arms
wrapped, chests spasming with deep breaths and ripe
peddling. Pampering first chaste grace of the soul, whether
our bodies entwine or fast in the hours of this world.

How conceived of delight, the moments effervescent reproach,
like Apollo's gold wing's flying from his chariot's coach. The mien
of publicly idling in two, what seemed like an hour happened
in only sixty seconds times two. A year passes, entranced with
shining infinite lust, with a cornucopia of different kisses that
began with just us.