Muse

Like fine silk, your fingers are soft to the touch, your caress is the ocean breeze that cocoons my flailing frame in swaths of linen Bathed in solar radiance, your aureate skin is a testament to the light ensconced inside of you, Your hands, insurmountably crush me, as I am held captive, cuffed to lust's throes, my grasp is the fleeting frost that dissipates with swift ardor into winter’s ether We muse as paramours awakening to avian creatures whistling through the cleft of dawn's emergence, unburdened by life’s tribulations, gliding in streams of Lydian legatos that vivify dawn’s silent canvas