My Redeemer

You come to me in darkness,
when the clock ceases to tick.
Slivers of moonlight accent
your altitudinous cheekbones;
the buttons of your waistcoat.
This is the way I’ve been taught
to discern you from the transients.

Our smoky silhouettes strike up
a dance all of our own design;
I’m in your arms enrobed in silk,
and you lift me to a height where
I become a statue of Aphrodite,
towering and unreachable in beauty.
I slither downward, and rest en pointe.

I tremble as your lips travel down
the length of my neck, then across
two sharply carved collarbones;
it feels like fingers along my spine.
Our meetings leave me half-drunk
on an amalgam of ardor and urgency,
while remapping fissures borne.

Our colloquy is composed of
contingence and exhalations;
a courante and syncopation.
I absolve you for withdrawing
when the break of day is imminent,
for in the dark of night, the late hours,
you belong to me.