To Lay With You
it is not a desperate yearning
as in the torturous growls of famine...
No, it is a swift wounding
internal bleeding seeping need
from the wetness of my mouth
falling into the hollows of desire
like drops from a water bucket
into the dark depths of a well
it is an impeachment of my vision
peeling away the layers of clothing
silk and linen, lace and leather
that adorn you in black skirt,
white blouse and buckled heels
it is the curve of your bosom, fully
hidden in capture, endangered
as a species of fur bearing cat, loose
upon the wild lands of poachers
who know the night as a guardian
of profit in the shadows of moonlight
it is the plume of your calves, open
like the brown wings of raptores
carved out of cherry wood, high
heels that arch your feet like lovers
on the monument of names
it is my mind knowing the taste
of satisfaction beyond the inside
bounty of naked thoughts projected
against the pounded walls, behind
the black holes in my eyes
Tony Spivey
Copyright 2004


it is not a desperate yearning
as in the torturous growls of famine...
No, it is a swift wounding
internal bleeding seeping need
from the wetness of my mouth
falling into the hollows of desire
like drops from a water bucket
into the dark depths of a well
it is an impeachment of my vision
peeling away the layers of clothing
silk and linen, lace and leather
that adorn you in black skirt,
white blouse and buckled heels
it is the curve of your bosom, fully
hidden in capture, endangered
as a species of fur bearing cat, loose
upon the wild lands of poachers
who know the night as a guardian
of profit in the shadows of moonlight
it is the plume of your calves, open
like the brown wings of raptores
carved out of cherry wood, high
heels that arch your feet like lovers
on the monument of names
it is my mind knowing the taste
of satisfaction beyond the inside
bounty of naked thoughts projected
against the pounded walls, behind
the black holes in my eyes
Tony Spivey
Copyright 2004



