Silent Night
You make me quake
With your piercing eyes
And tempting breath.
And I drink the wine.
I feel you touching my fingertips
And I grin politely, not daring to have you stop
Words race to my lips
But die on the desert of my tounge.
While I am prickling,
You lick the skin on my palms.
These palms that write verses
Are now bound by you.
Finally you moisten my lips
But words still will not come.
Rather a soft sigh...
And the promise of lingering stars.
