Stripped

You linger
in lavender scented
swings of my wrist,
handwriting round and insecure,
cool languid looks
over shell stripped shrimp,
and spicy red cocktail sauce
absentmindedly dripped and licked.

Lying here
listening to a newly wound clock
tick-tick-ticking
an incessant reminder of destiny,
while I with flint metallic voice
chase away dogs and distractions
ill aligned with evenings plan-
to entertain my inner whore
with you.

You,
with arms crossed in distant desire,
one moment,
and the next-in deep discreet divulgence
suede shouldered fingertip brush,
with shy smile and enthusiastic nod,
bringing both to this dark sanctuary
of sweat and arms,
caress and lace,

only to be awoken both abruptly
by reality's slap in the face.