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