over me,
a warm caramel coating
on my skin.
Precious like berries
and tart.
I can taste him.
He is honey and vanilla
and spice.
His hands are churning
(my) steel to butter
over and over.
His body is fluid
The heart oozes
from him,
staining the room
with raspberry rage.
I can taste his
hands,
with my
ears.
I taste his music,
savoring the
fire
that he cannot see in his
bourbon groove;
amaretto darkness
that belongs
only to
him.
