images of

images I think I can only create in icing

or spilled nail polish

something raw and slick and shining

reflective

I can’t paint

and the words don’t seem to come to describe

images of deep blood red and ivory cream blossom

of his seed spilled

something hot and sleek and splashing

intimately

I can’t breathe

and the desire spasms through me to ignite

images of wine and cream boiled in scalding heat

spilled on a marble shaft

something hard and strong and surging

immersing

I can only pant

and the words are only his infinite name to import

images of velvet and chrism embedded against this endless tender crush of terrifying fearless love