To My Poet Lover

(To My Poet Lover)
I Watch You Write

The stroke of your pen on paper
or hand across my breast,
soul-touches, both
carving maps of me
to which you return often
like the dip of your pen again to ink
or bow of your head again to my skin,
laboriously obsessing,
determined to lay new ground
marking,
like your teeth on my shoulder,
unexplored territories,
shedding light on the mystery of me.

Promises of riches
and sounds of soft, weak moans
driving you, seducing,
coaxing your pen
along the pages white
or breath along the milky expanse
of skin that forms the valley
between my thighs.
You drink from the dark pool
quenching your thirst.
Your pen noting the terrain,
you journal the particulars of me
with your mouth,
the rich earthy taste
upon your pallette
or under your pen
a sanctified verb.

Claiming the site as yours,
you build a razor-wire shrine
laying intricate paths
known only by you.
I watch you pray there
by the tomb ,
a humbled journeyman
knelt in fervent worship,
moving only to trek
your way up my body
like the words
across your page.
Your pen joining us
with holy nouns,
you fashion
a sacred lover's-knot
that binds our souls.