I crave the curves of your arms, and how you graze my naked skin with your keen sense of touch.
But I'll treat this lust as a taboo to be sure I'm still withdrawn.

I want the luxury of you
gazing through, behind the fiery strands,
a beam of ire with sporadic desire. The utter spark
of elation burned up long ago, and now your eyes hold nothing but memories
of amity. Mine are weighed down
with dreaded speculations of tomorrow. But
the horror of tomorrow's plague does not yet rest on me.
In this moment the only vice I need is your skin against mine.