Dulce Diosa

To the subject of my thoughts:
You call me your muse; I can't stop writing about you.  You draw me; I sketch your silhouette in every corner of every paper.

Sink, sinking, sunk--the sunkenness that is this destination, this space, is you.  The portal on your chest hypnotized me.  The map on your wrist guides me.  The back of your neck is a face, and I press my own against it.

The bow of your top lip lifts and falls.  Your eyes are sleepy and slurp my soul into anywhere.  When they burst open, I am there to meet them.

I desire you, and I always have.  Lay down, drip your liquid love.  I watch and lick, play and remember, actualize and virtualize.  Let me devour, consume, and corrupt your skin.  I will not ask and you will not resist.

Dulce Diosa, duermete.  My lips will stick to yours tonight and in the morning, in dreams and in-betweens, in drowning and floating.

Your bow, your portal, your map, your blue, your red, your song, your gasp,

It is my god.