I can'not be held accountable for third degree burnsk appearing as stigmata. patterned as tessellations all over your six-foot-three-frame. And what about your hands that have begun to entice me to the point of aggravated infatuation. my urges,your peculiarities :juxtaposed.
My head is begging to
upon the broadness of your shoulders
planes of your chest.
you are writing a novel
a combination of all your most recent:seeds
your portfolio of secret thoughts.
the way you compile each emotion
reads to me like a riverbend
or a Popsicle stand
all signs of the season.
He spoke to me of the valley's of his heart
And rejoiced of the golden pillars he sees
between my eyes and within my lips,spun gold through
I am cupping my face inside the protection of my own two hands
he is:red cheeks, looking down:asking me what I think of
I'll show you mine. If you show me yours.