let me sleep in the knots
the maze of your locks
gift me a ravenwood night
& just save you the box
don't cover the glow
your face has begot
leave the palette of paints
for landscapes or Seurat
can you lay on your stomach
while my hands explore?
following goosebump trails
on a tantric tour
to your spine's final exit
whence man is scorned
'til he finds the dirt road
where a tan hasn't formed. . .
a bumpier route
how about a handful of thigh?
or a trip to your calves
where my animal eyes
drown in their tone
beneath a cannibal's guise
lips glisten and beckon
to sample their prize
& what of those windows?
leaving savages blind
their bloodshot gloss hiding
(a few fathoms behind)
the confines one pines for:
your affluent mind
which I'll nourish and treasure
if patterned with mine