TinkerX

The curve of your neck beckons,
shallow bowl of moon stone. Cool milk
spills, silk on silk below green eyes
dark dyed, hooded, never fully wide. Your sky
of fair wind hair spins night’s
sigh around your curve of neck.
Just a touch to my side, a leaning touch
but I could never slide a hand
across our paper thin yet deep divide
to find the smile/wound that hides behind
your yellow, shining, night-sky honey,
golden maned disguise.

I turn my eyes. From you, from my desire,
and see the silhouette of
your neck on the wall. The fall
of shadow inked by yellow light behind,
lithe shape the same, slender goblet full of life.
I am trapped between my eye and mind,

and yet…

this gap I may yet bridge. I find
my arm behind, my hand casts shadows
on the wall’s blank page. Your back is turned,
the plain, dull plaster just a stage where now
I’m free to lift my hand, stretch, fingers plead
and, finally, end their silent
aching need.

The curve of your neck beckons,
it’s silhouette like some bright lamp
from ancient desert tales.
And finally I feel
the sweet, soft slippery
glide of fingers down inside
shadow.

I (shadow) stroke the (shadow) curve
of (shadow) neck,
and the whisper of sweet, yellow breeze,
begs,
"Please.
Now.
Three wishes.
Make them
quickly."

Lamp light flickers,
your hooded eyes are almost closed.

I am a coward, fingers caught
in shadow. What to wish for?

I don’t know.