Would this kiss suffice for your heart,
to which, is offered denying fission;
no union of souls may e’er be apart,
only our trials of total submission;
and bid this earth to bravely quake
its very core, ‘ere your tremble falls;
and bid the stars, their fires, forsake,
let this, our flame, stoke their thralls;
weight of flesh between our breaths,
borne in stillness, by purest design,
shall ne’er lay still to softest caress,
but would offer up our heart’s resign;
for to fail our task with bed undone,
would pallor linens then be unmade;
thus, long before rise of morning sun,
I melt to your thighs as you had bade.
Petrichor 