Days and days I move. And I want to eat Love. Like fistfuls of butterscotch pudding. Sweet messy gorge the bowl of flush flesh and buried fists in the nape of the neck. The slope canyon shadow of the lower back. I want to spin Love like Time. Until sex with you unravels all the laws of gravity. Not rushing like late for flights at the big bad international terminal. Forget to kiss and push through crowds. Mad to get to the end of it all. My lips remember the shape of your ears. The length of your arms. The taste of the skin of the neck. Until words passing through the part talk you into you. And your name is my name. And I want to talk Love. Like pressing my tongue in your ears. Soft wet valve to valve open. Hot pulsing fluid exchange. These hands searching the hard text of you. Reading out your insides. Crack you open like spines until your words spill themselves out limpid and moaning into me.