Your Dark Garden

You pour between fingers.
I steam at every drop.
My skin crawls at the very thought,
Of your touch.
Your garden.
Where I want to run.
I dream you give chase.
I count roses along the way.
The path to the old place.
How we laugh in this cathedral.
The echo of your pleasure,
Releases wings around us.
Entangled in this mess.
My lips search your limbs,
To taste every ember,
To drink of your essence.
There is nothing sweeter,
Than losing our innocence.