let me be
your mountain
and you shall be the snow
upon my weathered face
against my chest
lean your tired shoulders
let your hair
be a silk blanket
to cover my heart
I’ll curl my arm
around your ribs
snuggle my forearm
under your breasts
I am your poet
and you, my patron
your shoulder will
be my page
and I will write for you
a story with my lips
of how your beauty
stills my heart
but you shall know the
tale to be fiction
for you will feel
against your back
a thunder within my chest
which sends
a crimson storm
to floods capillaries
and make flesh rigid
gently slide to find
throbbing heat
within the curves
softly pressed against
stomach and thighs
teeth on a tender neck
draw whispered words
but I shall put your lexicon to rest
and send fingers
to silence your velvet lips
of anything other than tightly drawn breaths,
satin sighs,
or half-formed pleas
to earless gods
words are of no more use today, Love
my flesh will translate
the words from my heart
and your body will
learn a new language

About Eric

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s