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My love, it is coming; lilies veil their wine cheeks as we did, pretending shyly the sweetness of fruit breathed headiness against our citrusy mouths. It has always been coming.
I darken before you, grapefruit drops dampening the lace gracing my body. You stare, your fingers fondling slyly my garters. It is coming.
Does it please you to see me like this? Standing before you, waiting in ardent anguish for you to lap me up. Tell me again, who are we? For what do we abandon the light?
Our knees touch; I, a lily abloom, between your thighs. For beauty, you whisper. For beauty quivering. What we long for is coming. It has always been coming, my love.
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