A Moment is Yours

By lamplight, I lay at the farthest end of the bed to read
And I feel you staring up my legs
Tracing scars and silently shadow puppeting
Ankle to cheek, as if your fingers were monsters.

Your hands, brittle and sweet
Sneaking fruit from the trees
Embracing slowness, slow lover
Learning to admire childish
Shadows on a canvas
Of woman in between-

Is that your love?
If one beckons gently for their
inner desires, why does another
remain at the end of said bed?
Monsters, that's just it.

They are as frightening
Up my soft legs as if
Before me now.

Their garish faces tickle and taunt
The mind, convinced of a joyous
Reeling and further contained
As a sacred ritual underground, inside.
The monsters are not mine,
They are not real,
So, the monsters are all mine;
As I would imagine, and to let
Them desire from a distance
Is passion at its least solicitation
Yet most intrinsic spring and
Boundless you.

Spare you not a minute of beauty
To reflection.
Have it deep within your soul
Now,
For the hell of it.

For I- could not look
God in the eyes to show
My gratitude for life
Whilest living it.