My touch,

Slow as time’s passing

Curiosity informing the tools

Of moistened, agile tongue

Saliva slick fingertips

So even the friction

Feels like warm gold sliding

Down the inside of your thighs

Diving beneath the surface

The golden lakes of our flesh

Held in one another’s mouths

Small stabs of pleasure

Building until we lose all that we are

In a short squall of warm rain.