Atlas

Trepidation

Tiptoes up my spine

I ache like an old wound

Warmed by wet summer air

My palms perspire

Made nervous by your

Proximity, like roses;

Painful almost, in beauty

I am tired tightly shut

Like a new shoe

On a taunt foot

Step lightly

Your breath is heavy

Atlas aid me

I am slipping on my tongue

This as old honey

Prey end my suffering