Perfection lies in your
being. Your lips, your
taste (I imagine).
Your deameanor, your refusal
to acknowledge you’re anything
beyond the norm.

Your existence, a miracle,
an act of God.
An amazing template,
which crashed to this planet
with woman’s form,
brushing off dust,
continuing forth.

Flowery words
fall short,
failing to capture
you, provide you justice.
But god damn it,
they’re all I have.
All I’ve ever had!

What of me can belong
to you? I’ll willfully
strip myself bare, stand shivering,
vulnerable to your gaze.
I will thrust off what bothers you.
Bury it all beneath my feet
and naked body.

Strip yourself bare, erase
your fears, and take comfort.
Let me hold you firmly,
to caress your head,
to calm your nerves,
to absorb your innocence.

We’ll savor lips,
taste the warm air surrounding
our fevered breathing.
Feel euphoric; the thoughts racing
throughout our heads,
as we tackle each other’s bodies,
pushing, pulling
at each other, ripping
at threads, which separate you from me.