bliss

with my lover, poetry embalms
our together time
like wet dogs licking the
last wily drops
of succulent togetherness


excercise 3

I must relax, succumb
to your caress, the timbre
of your voice ignites a filament
of desire. Lost in the tine
and earnest, pointed texture
of your will, like an iris
to the spring. I am steel.