Muse
Like fine silk,
your fingers are
soft to the touch,
your caress is the
ocean breeze
that cocoons
my flailing frame
in swaths of linen
Bathed in solar radiance,
your aureate skin is
a testament to
the light
ensconced inside of you,
Your hands,
insurmountably
crush me,
as I am held captive,
cuffed to
lust's throes,
my grasp is
the fleeting frost
that dissipates
with swift ardor
into winter’s ether
We muse as paramours
awakening to avian
creatures whistling through
the cleft of dawn's emergence,
unburdened by life’s tribulations,
gliding in streams of
Lydian legatos
that vivify dawn’s
silent canvas
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