Love Poem: Malice

Malice

A dance of death, a greedy chore
     Trapped inside these creature comforts;
A chance of life may become a bore
     Outside this pleasantly right hurt.
But, soft and fair, though, of the skin,
     In flesh a silent malice lies
Dormant, unnoticed, not used in
     Context. Still, touch me as day dies.
And you, a ghost I cannot touch
     By reaching out to Heart or mind,
Caught up in this sweetly rush-
     Jaded: Nothing else left to find.
Superfluous and flushed, we breath
In gusts, unable to be free.