Your even traces
Spill wild graces.
I am fixed upon the moon
Of your prettied face.
To then, your form beyond,
To see, the great details beneath
A changing expression.

You have formed your form
Out of ivory.
I have tasted its sample,
Of leaking perspiration.

You battle quiet moments
With fervent joy.
You resound the chapters aloud
Of our breath beneath the water.

I taste of the hues,
The marvelous rose
Of a red atop a breast
That seeks fire from the heat.

Your arms, given graces,
Of soothing embraces,
Wrapped about the unfurled limbs of me
In all of this, in bloody heat.

For I have lasted until the death of our time,
When radiation will give into satiation.

Beauty confines itself in the mirror,
Where there may be no fervor.
I am granted but a final moment
To grab tear from cheek.

For upon the legs,
You do not walk.
You do not talk
With the wildness of a wilderness
Of your anchoring beauty
That wakes me
To the sundering cause
Of all it took, to pause.