Perpetrater

I only need look up to the skies where
her eyes are the seething storms, passing me by.
Those lips. OH, you must know
they rip me at the core, leading me.
needing.
pleading. For a score.

Those fingers, HA! Just one
caress from those fingers lingers
a decade, or four. But who's counting?
Because with
Just the thought of your breath, well... it keeps me
at the depths of a plea that will never hear me.

And you know, next comes the pleading
of no more goodbyes at the meeting of
her thighs.  Holy High Hell!!! The Beginning
of the ending, and back again in a slippery slope.

In a pervasive haste, if
you need the body of mine against yours,
meet me at nine, leaning back
feeling it in the rhythm of the universe
calling your name. and mine.