My fall.

My fall, soon you will arrive,
No sadness, colors vibrant, bright.
Red, copper, orange,
I do not mourn.

The red I feel is,
Orange’s energy.
The grey, makes me happy,
When thinking of your,
Moody thoughts and stories.
Lights flickering from houses,
I feel not alone, though,
They do not know,
Looking out windows,
Muted screams, cellos…
What you are about to do,
While holding me so close,
With your unbroken stare,
Your belt, your ties, your palms,
Taboo,
And me.

Parallel from,
Summer burned,
I am wrapped up in a fever born.
The Sun against,
My breath in and,
Out,
To be sworn in,
To your devilish stillness,
I am not scared of,
Fright.
Moon calm and,
You are too calm,
Both cascading in an accent,
Spoken from another place,
My palette of,
Ambient apricot, swollen rose,
Thrown to a bed,
For your sinister sights.
You commanding, loudly,
Music in, otherwise, silent night.

One motion,
On me,
Then,
Aligning me to you,
Perfectly.
For you, my Prince,
There is no other space,
My heart’s only intention to,
“Please…”

Your hands and words,
Instruction.
Legs twining,
Intertwined from behind,
Fog hovering over,
My left ear as you whisper,
“I love you, ma…”,
And, “You are mine.”

Ankles, thighs, wrists, arms,
Laced,
My hand reaching, but,
Only catching shadow from,
Moonlight, to,
Stop you, and to also continue on.
You smiling,
Knowing we will go on,
Placing my hand back,
Where you tell me I belong.

Your version of wintry frivolities,
Cinnamon stick in,
Peach tea, figs,
Dates, late night,
Whipped,
By a bonfire’s rage burning late.

Your hands,
Rough and loud.
Me, grabbing sheets, thinking,
They will save me from,
You, holding down, me.
Red, copper, orange,
And the moonglow I see,
Casted over an earl grey scheme,
I cling to,
You, my fall, to breathe.

Between Jerusalem and Mexico series, a taboo love.