Judith, you appear to be on fire!
why, your tender footsteps scorch my
hardwood floors to ashes.
I cannot lie in our bed, as all the sheets
have the singe marks of your cinders.
your summer dress it smoulders,
as it flicks and flies about your
thighs, sparks dancing to my fingers.
I offered you some water, you said
“no, my graceless lover, give me gasoline”.
and I obliged.
Judith, you appear to be made of silver
you taste different to my tongue
you pour strangely when melted
you are ductile, malleable and electricity
flows easily your length and breadth.
there is no tarnish on your form
no stain of me upon you, all
my fluid is invisible, it may as well be water
and you, well be the moon
for all the air I suck from ranging on your surface
Judith, you appear to transform to music
as you merge with yourself above me, every
mote of flesh in harmony.
and you linger in the air, where words form only
in that absence, in those notes that fret in mem’ry,
of the song.