To her

I claim your hair
soft agony on a sunday morning.
I sing a choir to your belated walrus.
Tempestuous sunlight woven
thru the fragile features
of your angels fire
singing from myself
towards you
untying the knots of tragedy.
As I nestle in your baudy temple
I have fallen again.
I claim your camembert
and your gruyere.
The vast enormity of
your passion draws me in.
Your armpits intoxicate me also
I am one with your pubic hair
A smiling wetness as I
navigate your emulations
I've seen you unleash your
Roman fury.
Burning gold like a mare in heat.
Laugh that laugh when you
breathe in your clothes
but slip off those panties
and we'll see a different expression!