She walks up behind me,
Slowly,
Silently,
The smile on her lips
A tangible feeling
Hands cover my eyes,
Delicate,
Soft,
A game that still
Thrills me
And my muse coos,
Trills,
Whispers,
Life blooming behind my eyes,
So many worlds
At her fingertips
And she takes one hand,
Carefully,
Casually,
A trail burning
Down my shoulder
She marks a spot,
Liquid fire,
Liquid passion,
And under my shoulder blade
It burns
Such a pain,
Stabbing,
Consuming,
And she strikes deep,
Like always,
A tribute for her dreams
And taking her pen,
Still dripping,
Freshly inked,
Closes my fingers around it
Before touching it to paper
To tell her story
With every part of me.









