Your soft lips leave mine and you're soon out the door
Always looking back, your eyes finding a way to make brown feel blue
Off to the car, you'll probably get there by four
Of course you already have your answers in a queue
Explanations gifted with the ability to bore
Lulling each question to prevent the awakening of "with who?"
It's a perfected process, no need to practice; it's been done before
Not a single reply requiring a review
And I'm not the jealous type, I will never ask for more
So I tend not to imagine your lips working with the same intensity on another; as if that makes it any less true.
Teeth on wet, silken skin; colouring your body in the shades of desire
You're marked, but you're not mine
And with each pulse comes a crescendo, louder and higher
Only a fraction achieved at home, you say, with a careless concoction of beer, vodka and wine
Fingertips drenched in familiarity find warm openings, turning candle heat into bodily fire
Mouths swallowing several sighs, screams and the occasional whine
Hands finding their place on necks like accustomed attire
Moments like these make heaven look less divine
And I'm not the jealous type, I'm the other but I'm also a liar
When I say, while engulfed by your enamoured eyes, that simply this, is fine.
Your whispers, verbal cushions, make cosy seats for the ears
Gelantinizing into sweetmeats when our tongues meet
A confetti of colours paint the walls whenever we speak; splashes of dreams and splotches of fears
What we have here is not just a moment's heat
I'm your refuge from the clouds of domiciliary airs
You're my miracle, injecting life with something sweet
I know it could be tomorrow, in a month or two years
An abeyance or the termination; one of them could be the interloper we may have to greet
And I'm not the jealous type, even if I hate that we must stay in separate social spheres
To converse, to copulate, to embrace, to gaze, to maintain this bliss; our love needs no audience to be complete.