The lineaments

in you wife

I would desire

what indoors is all haze

sound the lineaments

of gratified deep fire

these illicit

syllables

alone at the front desk

slide your hand

under your skirt

press fingers to lips

your swift slick digits

quicken a private rush

leave Reception blushing

after work wet as weather

you pin me to a park bench

your run-cut legs snug

around my hips as jets

fog the city we syncopate

the secret liquid funk

one pulse under two coats

contain my ardour

like a virus how

your body glows

firm and bright as vows

Monday moans or vowels

blossom from your throat

like nobody’s business