there is a sonnet
of torture
in the hours
spent away
from the ferrel
heat
of your gaze
the thrumming trill
in my skin
when the absence
breaks
and your fingers
fit like lock
and key
between mine
my nerves grow
electric
as your pale eyes
drink me in
and that one
cocky brow
does it’s comical dance
for my
amusement
but nothing consumes me
like your skin
in the dark
your body pressed
against me
your hands playing
new chords
along my greedy
flesh
stealing my wit
breath
and pleasure
until I’m left
with
nothing to
give
but penny kisses
and the cheap
promise
of a new song
tomorrow
and
always