wavelength

blurred edges opalescent
in twilight
i can half-see you,

i confirm what is unseen
with hands,
bare brush of lips

against sfumato white
shoulderblade,
divot of collarbone,
hidden in these last sips
of leftover sunspill.

goosebumps
against my lower lip
exist only a
gasp,

drawn by a breath,
erased by touch,
drawn again by tonguetip

now tracing
contours of your flinch
accompaniment.

and warm, this warmth
so... not white.
blue, red layer
blush in unnamed
hue,

my attention as
delicate as the split
and cycles
of those cells.

the smell is warm,
a subtle drink of skin
to caress each breath,
stow away on them,
request favors,
offer intoxication in
return.

i could never have staid
that tonguetip, too
impatient to tease,
my eyes insist--

for two beats,
the small throb
of blood pulsing against
the bridge
of your shoulder
and my mouth--

before confessing
long starvation,
a need to taste
the spice savour of you,

your skin, an enticement
craved with all
other senses

too long to warrant
timidity, but with enough
narcotic anticipation

to take time, to see it as
a ripple of these

instants.

strings in low hum,
a loose vibrato.

oh, harmony
made from our
opposing tension,

the rhythm of
declensions and
ascensions in
silence.

swirled colours,
become,
or exist also
as steady lines
of touch and string.

music.

largo,

then
poco crescendo

con fuoco.