We touched last night
on opinions of honey;
most of all,
its eminent fade upon tongue.

But before:

The tangible gold prowling
lining of throat; poised
to invade the heavens
of internal folds.

Found those sleeves tucked
in crisp black and whites

and marveled at emotions
that only acknowledge full swing
of pendulum...Ignore the slow
and low shimmer of gleam

in between the seasons,

we all turn our faces skyward
and cast wishes to colours not of
our world. Ask that they bring
a multitude of bird song;
melodious offering

our souls can sip upon.

I am bored
well beyond the lines of acceptable decor.
The doodles of your insinuations
rearranging constantly behind my eyes.

I found lust scribbled
upon a bathroom door;
caught your scent roaming
long and semi~stimulating
corridors...

And thought on
dreams not unlike the many
tides spent upon shores too gritty;
the empty
eyes seamed to horizons
you would never watch re~rise
along with me...

My simply hewn sun;

Saturn is a turn too distant
to your umber satellite cusp.

And Venus, just a trace
of voluptuous orbit an inch
outside the reach of your tongue.

If I thought to provide a hint...
It might be seen as
a moonlight trail gracing tips
of canyon sharp night.
A bend and gasp of heaven height

that never quite fits.