Your hands are a coffin. Smooth as polished cyprus, strength in every knot and plane. They keep me trapped and breathless within.
Their eyes are serum. Lapis lazuli and drunken lidded, mawkish in my gaze and on my tongue. They soothe and enable the heat of my skin.
I am brimstone. Buried by you and burning for them.
I am an acrobat, feet on the ground.