Patterned Precision

Your skin, soft and smooth,

Tastes sweet beneath my tongue,

Like vine ripened grapes.



You watch as I trail it along your body,
Leaving it's glistening path behind,

Miniature mountain tops forming in it's wake.



You shudder like the trees,

After a clap of thunder in a spring rain,

Leaves left trembling in the rolling rumble.



Our hearts have been cut from the same cloth,

With the cold steel of the tailor's scissor,
Yet warmed by the love of his craft.

Patterned precision for synchronous heartbeats.



Like a poet's musicality, or a poem's metrical form,

We glide through life to the beat of a single drum,

Our cadence marches, hand in hand, in step with one another.



So bring me your lips, the lips that have enslaved my heart,

The lips that whisper my name, that sigh with contentment,

The lips that have imprisoned me for eternity.