like the kaftan, he pulls on top
tries my skin because it’s a maze
his discovery
although, he’s been here before
burrowing through innocent land
the ship that carved through the same waters every day
as he wore me as his perfume
the zipline to the feverish desire’s end
but the battle only begins
brewing, crafting under his touch
my body dormant and unspoiled, only his indulgent impulse
picked at me, carved into me
but i will not divulge and fold
the secrets i keep in my holster
he has done his number
your challenge
undo the craters his hands constantly embarked
and wash his perfume off of me

© simon whittle — from lovers’ tiff: a ballad