Naked, wearing only sweat,
The bittersweet taste and sticky touch of your flesh
Opened memeories wide as ransacked drawers,
Or safes opened by gloved burglars.
In my mind I put my hand in your drawers,
Anxious for the touch and further taste of you
On my tongue, my mouth, my face wet with you.
You’re like a fast bike on a sharply declining road.
I want to ride you full throttle, ports opened wide,
Taking each curve without using any brake,
The slower snaking path of my tongue on your spine
From nape to the haunting cafe of your derriere
Is a trip I take several times before I turn you over
And open you to the middle like a book,
Your spine in my hands, the dark juice of your words overflowing,
Rivulets easing out of a corner of your mouth.
You’ve spoken only to me.
Summoned, I bid you to be my novel.
