Leaving the cloth in tatters,
The ragged remnants of modesty,
Come words which pin you
To the poet's wall,
Moving over your skin,
Over rising ripples and ridges,
Along petals and,
Between silken folds,
Entering, having their way as,
Your body writhes with
The passion of their penetration,
Until, stripped and soaked,
You are released into
That sweet oblivion,
Where shivers and trembling,
Echo the passage of my words.
Donovan Baldwin