In an austere place
Mutely, I assemble on cushioned lace
Setting spike upon waxed wood
Manipulating her three hundred sixty degrees
Before she comes to rest
Luring years of lovingly,
Longingly created nadirs
Conjured looks, lingering sensations
Become the rhythm
Of enrapturing frames
Tales of more than one soul
Beckon her to slide twixt thighs
A gentle touch
To a hardened heart
Till I caress her neck
With tiniest of pinpoint pressure
Sliding fingers cross her hair
To call forth
From her, to her, for her
Notes of nights that passed
Into waning years
Of solitude composed
In pieces
That float on dreams
Across infinity’s chasm
A poignant symphony
Only once more
Will I share