Cradled in your hands
I picture the gentle slope of your cheek
and your hair falls down around me like a dark forest thickly.
There is childlight in your eye
and your lips melt into cinnamon
and I love you.
I endlessly love you.
But you're lightning in a bottle
and you've yet to strike out,
as I know you will,
with wrath
with lust
with the last fleeting fire of fallen down youth.

Still,
spread your arms and I'll embrace you
spread your legs and I'll kneel to taste you.

We'll always have that summer,
while we drift away in ceaseless
fall.