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.