Your fingers tell the soft story to my skin.

A cautious, caring narrative.

Woven on spot, etched on my flesh.

Your lips sing the song of Angels.

Every motion is a swoon birds envy.

Pressed against mine, melodies linger.

Let's lay awhile,

And tell the story of our lives.

Not with arrogant words,

But rather the tender touch of a lover's stroke.

Let's lay awhile,

And sing our confessions and desires.

The warmth of your lips,

Revealing deep secrets and dark passions.

You reassure through your song.

Caress me through your tale.

I am bound to the arts.