Immaculate Urge

My love comes banked in purity, white tattered feathers adorning his body, dipped in shallow inkblots, yet I can see through the darkness masking his fair form, a sort of telephone seduction carried out through silent horror, angelic and alarming, drenched in his own sense of wonder, I plead for him to place me next to his golden bridge, to allow me one shameless night atop his tower, complete with scent of skin and brush of silken hair, cat’s eyes coaxing beauty, willing beauty out of this imperfect vessel, I offer him the world inside my bones, I offer him the moon carved in my shoulder, and long for a single slender brittle piece of heated magic to wrap myself in through the night.