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.