There were candy gloss eyes,
staring back through intuition,
The strain of thin fabric,
tight over tense shoulders.
She had baseball bats for eyelashes,
she beat me blinking pretty.
There was a moment’s hesitation,
In a pouting cotton pink lower lip,
knowing that half a second later,
her never ending neck would stretch.
She would lean forward and her hair,
a perfect mess of shady tones,
would swing forward an inch closer,
waving like a vanilla siren.
The light would hit the bright spot,
on the corner of her satin cheek,
her easy grace would stand,
holding her hips in a tornado.
The midnight desert curve of her,
would seduce shadows from her thighs.
In a tiny slice of absolute presence,
her wet gaze would soak in and,
an angel’s voice would whisper promises,
to every single inch of me.
When the white noise of her,
is fire in my eardrums,
I will be so much more than me.