Your skin pale from Winter. Smooth as Female Nature Herself; as silk, Yet warm as young Motherhood, electric As newlywed love.
I whisper improvised poetics Between lips that know each Pore of your perfect person. I kiss clichés on your cheekbone, Nouns on your nose. Bury my face in your sweet Eternities of seraphim scented hair, And pray that the poem I leave on your parchment skin Remains unread by Other readers. You wrap your covers around Me, unfolding, then folding, Unfolding, then folding, Like a slowing butterfly mid- Butterflight.
And I add a poem to everything, As always. A poem the exact size of a Lady loved, -the sound of Waves of Wish upon Thank, And the weight of The world's only Actual Church.