Tongue of Fire, Fingers of Gasoline
I lie here naked, wait
for you to join me. Wish
my hand was instead
your lips, your magic tongue
that coaxes a rush of plasma
from dirty linens, dextrous
fingers that tweak nipples
until the electric creaminess
of that triangle spends
itself on belly, breasts.
Smeared with the evidence
of your perfection you
are more beautiful than ever.
