You voice rests, like a python against my jugular
with the conflux of a three-chambered heart
Sensing pheromones leaked
below my chin,
the end of you teases
the beginning of me
as you twist, swollen,
to the scent of human fancy

There is no sound to your grace,
no hiss to your guile
slinking toward the finality
of an inhaled lover's sleep.
I watch you there
even as you move,
muted and lithe,
with the slick devotion
of a thousand shed skins

01/28/2005

Posted on 01/29/2005
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