Forearms
Parallel to
Cool white sheets
Hair matted with
Healing sweat
It looks like
Supplication but
You can feel
The adoration
In my breath
Your physiology
Is a temple
To lust
The jewel between
Your thighs catching
Wet light
But as I instruct
The air shimmers
With potential
My fingers
Bite
At your hair
To possess you
To stroke the ripe
Fruit of you
This controlled reverence
With which I gift
The muscular
Raw power
Of
My
Fuck
Rest in the
Uncertainties
That i might
Deliver
Stinging blow
Or knowing
Caress and to
The song of your
Nerves
There is no
Difference
MB Blissett 