I Love Money Sapphire

The nib in the ink sinks.

ink pulsing,

flowing through channels that tend skin.

Touch penetrating deeper into the page edges.

Stride its passage.

Sparks of light upward.

writes on the threads that bind,

as rapacious hands shaking,

pressing fingers on his wrist,

sinking into the sides.

Chills ripple the skin,

reflected in small drops of sweat.

And we indulge

dance to that animal,

where our desires

limits on non-moving steps.

Each piece of meat is to be explored.

The eyes are fixed in the challenge of the beyond,

giving pleasure to the altar .

There is no prevalence of possessing,

muscles,

in stealthily,

sharp

fairground,

on our bodies,

both the pursuit of pleasure of the other.

We find our desires

along the woven fabric,

that is intertwined in a circle,

reflected in drops that have not requests,

that our smell in the air transmits

lick the flavor and excitement

pleasures of unexpressed

along the line that divides pain

and pleasure fills,

find yourself in the wonder of desire

the desire.

The challenge vibrates on your wrist

long my arms that hold them still,

blindfolded I could to make you mad,

let go

sink to let the pen

on black pages to plow the red.