do a line [along my spine]

[i]    
   
   
My greed is slightly disturbing -    
I can't hide it 'neath azure anthems,    
or below the moon's quiet arousal.    
Drink my poetic mead, his tenor voice concedes.    
Bleed from the arch of your mind to see.    
Currents of weakness tease the night,    
reaping in waves on pain's delight.    
I recede to his trailing tongue as it burns    
along the crease of my affixed sensations.    

   
© 2015 blue angel