Timothy

the slow burn

licked on red velvet icing
nights end careens into dusk's
raging torpor slicing a line
along the brimstone'd arch of
her back, lusciously thrust

fluttering eyelashes catching
the tint of the crescent light
bathing the twirl of those
long long stems, poised with
perfection's irresistibility

kited across arms flailed and
limbs cached, the subtle
rustle of satin flung wild
in lusted hundred proof black
rum embraced by a solitary kiss

rise, fall, breath, hum, caress,
all things thrusted on a smooth
canvas of goosepimpled soft skin,
ramshackled and hamstrung in a
violent cacophony of passions

the midnights crashed, the tale
of crushed velvet ends as an
eruption of vigor, spiraling
down those deep collar boned
with a furled metaled tongue

kisses enshrined in bled out
lipstick, shades of red, blue
and turquiose spread across the
unraveled little black dress,
cavalierly tossed to the ground

the slow turn, the slow burn