The Queen Breathes
Your calls entrance me into that lull,
in the inky lurid blackness.
When it is all night,
nothing but
night.
You are pulling up a satin sheet;
inhaling pure starlight
to sigh it out
over that chosen dewfield
of your body.
Secretly lustful incantations
with serial breathtaking,
towards that sacred part,
of your wrything.
Your untamed intent,
it so willingly finds a helping dreamed hand.
Torso bound,
cast downwards,
between your legs
by a freer unkempt
and unkept mind.
What I would not give
recklessly to that song
that taps deep into my root,
into abandonment.
Forfeit, of my chamber,
any lofty kingdom,
my throne.
Countless other lands I may survey.
In favour,
of your sweeter favours
that might await my part
in your already risen
awakening.
Oh to be, in that juicy carnal place
of hungrily vocalised unrest.
Present to me in one, just one
of those otherwise still hours
the you, of those calls
and I will give that hourglass
a lustful rotation, ready.