The Queen Breathes

Your calls entrance me into that lull,

in the inky lurid blackness.

When it is all night,

nothing but

night.


You are pulling up a satin sheet;

inhaling pure starlight

to sigh it out

over that chosen dewfield

of your body.

Secretly lustful incantations

with serial breathtaking,

towards that sacred part,

of your wrything.

Your untamed intent,

it so willingly finds a helping dreamed hand.


Torso bound,

cast downwards,

between your legs

by a freer unkempt

and unkept mind.

What I would not give

recklessly to that song

that taps deep into my root,

into abandonment.


Forfeit, of my chamber,

any lofty kingdom,

my throne.

Countless other lands I may survey.

In favour,

of your sweeter favours

that might await my part

in your already risen

awakening.

Oh to be, in that juicy carnal place

of hungrily vocalised unrest.


Present to me in one, just one

of those otherwise still hours

the you, of those calls

and I will give that hourglass

a lustful rotation, ready.