My Hands Upon Your Flesh, Let My Words Be

(a gen-x sonnet)  
   
My hands upon your flesh, let my words be,  
Familiar sounds that wet you from within.  
A graceful lover’s tongue in my lines see,  
A graceful lovers’ dance which they begin.  
   
With every po'm like arms around you move,  
To guide you to more pleasured lovers’ stance.  
With every metered pulse, let my tongue prove,  
The rising strains within this poets' dance.  
   
With every stanza knowing tongue recites,  
With every line I breathe into your heart,    
With every phrase compose, build your delight.  
With every syllable make breath depart.  
   
And with last word, as I whisper your name,  
Know it’s from you where all these verses came.    
   
(to grace my muse)