With dusty fingers against my tongue
Your touch doesn't fall where the others have:
At my feet,
Me, on my knees.
Street-light halos and neon colors,
Bound in sheets.
Play this out with calculated moves,
No room for chaos, just
The curves of your shoulders,
Your tangled words mapping out passion
Our skin a one way road,
Fingertip toll booths along the way.
Forefingers fastened around my wrists,
The ropes of my past slipping through clenched fists
Just as I lean forward,
Over the edge.