Your name sounds like whispers from torchlit meetings in stone alleyways in Rome.

Your hands curl around me with measured force in double jointed arcs

beautiful hands throw peace like clay around the eyes

The inconsistent intensity of you is a symphony and you live in your id

Always energy the raw masculine of metal objects

like the tin man with a gong in his chest

You call to yourself down a deep well

pulling threads of joy through throats in heat activated gasps

very easy to want you.

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