I'd have you over for a cup of coffee

I'd watch your fingertips dance
as white falling silk from a skyscraper roof.

Spanish cantina red painted nails,
you could nail me to a wooden cross for another moment with you.

lots of cream from curved glass jugs
to quench, quell, and satisfy this thirst.

lots of sugar
for the sweetness of your lips and what an evenings worth.

ceramic glass on the table to consume this very thought,
glass on the floor we'll flood these memories
and wash away if I have lulled you to a bore.

where ageless bare feet are exposed;
defenseless trickles of blood on tile to prove we're still fragile.

no more barriers to break down,
but what's left is the broken me
wanting the perfect you.