There are many love songs I haven’t written
but some were written by others
and the songs are
And I feel like falling
all over again
into the sky
where the nightingales spell your name
Where the stars look up to you
from where the moon shines on the strings of your hair
stuck between your lips and mine
And your smile
when you smile
poets feed their works to the fire
readers smoke more cigarettes
wine cellars age twice as fast
and I understand nothing anymore.
In through the back door, on the couch.
The scent of jasmine and lilies – perfect.
Ice in the scotch chinked a tune.
Approached her on the balcony, unchecked.
My hand on her shoulder, she smiled back – a sign.
Eyes wandered to the fabric – divine.
Met my gaze, whet my thoughts – ardor.
Our drinks can wait, would her spouse? – torpor.
Before the fire, on the rug.
Yearnings caught fire in our veins.
Her shiver, her breathe, her sweat – glistening.
Dancing to the Howlin’ Wolf – prefect rhythm.
Thrust, unite, firm grip,
Ecstasy, procurement, bodies drip.
The ice melted, the jasmine slept,
My smell lingers on her, crept up in her bed
Backdoor alarm, time to go
Society asleep, blind, rooster crowing,
Only she will know.