Senseless in silk beside my sadder but wiser girl,
dripping in the mystery and madness of a dark night,
I dare her to love me as if this is the first time she has lived.
I have waited a lifetime to lie down on this bed,
bare, but for the rose quartz that wraps around my fingers,
and she lingers,
looking down at an innocent ingénue,
listing, with longing lips, all the things that she shouldn’t do,
but might just have to.
There is a galaxy gazing up from my painted, polished nails, and the chocolate cyclone of my irises,
a cacophony of colours,
and she is seconds from being submerged,
sabotaged with such style.
I’m the dreamer, and she’s the dream,
but I daren’t tell her,
keeping my cards in the shadows,
her gaze lost to our intimate interlude,
her mind following, with a heavy, heaven sent sigh.