I want to say deliquescent
and with envy
but I cannot.
This persian-gangster solitude
is the refuge of many wandering wantons
the distant emptiness whispers about your eyes;
the eminent implosion of reason in the ripples
of that spartan skirt adorning your hips.
lascivious like a white curtain
caught in the wind, ever so chaotic
and pregnant with stability
you slip from between my fingers when they
of their own accord, reach out to grasp
the sense of your touch.