More than just a one night stand

When the night comes

I will bring you to bed

and run my fingers down your spine:

smooth skin to lustful leather

bound pages of passion

on which the pen says what the tongue cannot.

I will rush to the climax

and lose my breath

in the heat of the dark.

If you play your words just right,

I'll be finishing you off

by the glow of a bedside lamp

between the soft white sheets.

W'e'll be two lines of a poem, playing

off of one another, until you become

the reader and I the novel,

with my bones spread

like the open book that I am.

But if I cry,

and spread the ink across the page,

placing you back to rest on the wooden shelf

may not ever silence the whispers

behind the words you never spoke.