Your eyes carry the shiver
That I have welcomed with the warmth.
The heat, from your conceit,
The bleak tresses that rain, to your shoulders and neck,
The love that opens itself wide, upon a bed made of stone,
And I am natural to admit,
That I could not commit.
Could not commit,
To the Devil between your legs.
I was within it, the honey that grazed my cheeks,
The world I saw from a womb
That may have bore a thousand-and-one souls.
Bare, you were, under covers, submerged,
And blessed, I was, to have a wilderness to devour.
But, among the warmth,
And among your eyes,
A certain coldness still resides.
Lost hope, from whatever meaning I’ve conjured
From your arms, when wielded in them.
I thought of love as a blessing,
Not the curse from every stolen moment,
We each can fathom
By a fallen heartbeat,
And a minute too soon.