Bibliophiles

Love and lust in a literary sense...

Juxtaposition on a chaise

of sentences and stanzas, an allusion

of a kiss pressed softly to the space where your neck and shoulder meet,

I strip you of clichés and the shirt as white and crisp as freshly fallen snow

on a January morning, my heart quickens its iambic pentameter

as you press your long hard

words into me, embedding them into my vocabulary,

our limbs are like similes, intertwined

like the strands of hemp braided into the rope that ties us

to this instant, you are a hyperbolist, making every moment

an extravagant exaggeration of sights, sounds, and satisfaction,

the connotation and denotation of what we are blends together,

like the fragmented thoughts of run-on sentences, we lack the punctuation

needed to separate, you use your alliteration of love and lust to keep our plot climbing

to a grand climax, so we may lay,

wrapped in dénouement,

untying our final actions.