In A Candlelit Room

Out the corner of her smile the sea-flocks fly.
Pupils tease in the wedges of skin aside the bridge.
My teeth grate goose-pimples as I suck the nectar of lust;
Veins draw blue around her breasts.
I enfold her body in to mine, belly to belly.
In my wrap - her heart.

Her vulva, within which my temple, sucks it's prey -
The lips a pink tourniquet.

A pearl tries to bury itself deep within a curling,
Mess of threads which crown my pubic bone.
My fingers dig at a volume of meat about her frame,
A tender plumpness held tight by milk-white wraps of film,
And swim through that skin.

That skin.

My eyes could drink the curve of her hips,
The trench of her spine, her blades forever.
I could eat her nape - chew those lobes forever-more.
Tongue, I could, her every inch through every hour.
Though time stands still with her dandling in my lap
And sound is dead - bar the marching drum,
The rhythm of our hips resounded in our chests.

Each slap turned thump,
A beating.

My breath halts dead-cold aside the quiver of my bones,
Fingers garotte her throat.
A shoulder victim to my jaws,
My chest compressed by claws;
A symbolic end.

Each other entwined
In a silence loud enough to scream,
To clap and cut the smell of love, of lust
That lingers longer than our fold.

Around us, stacks of books mock city buildings;
The press of every page holds witness to our dance
And too does a proud perched flame -

Dressing the walls with blush,
An afterglow of passion.