Lovers are the most captivating things of all.
“Fey Mane”
Coquette, you chew your lip and shake your head,
surprised by these moments,
still smiling a nose-curled invitation.
Lavender drifts through cool air.
Mahogany irises back away, toe to heel to wall.
Your fey mane, brings cheeks out in relief against white walls, a dark living frame.
Do I rise from the chair, walk certainly
eyes zeroed on your neck,
fingers aching to pull the buttons to free your nipples and tug at your jeans?
Do I acquaint us once or twice? And again?
Do I rub my face like a Tom in the small of your back,
rise to feel my chest between arching shoulders,
reach up to pull your cheek
to savor our scents in the surrounding space where gasps echo,
Do you surrender to cold white walls
pressed against your tits,
honey light splashing on the floor ‘cross your feet,
and our rhythm here and here and
here and now
and now?
Peter Walks for Democracy 
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