cloves and cinnamon
beneath
grape leaves
(your body language) tells me
the scent
of your skin
is filled
with spice
you are
like a grain of diamond
in the sand,
extraordinary
a secret glyph of light
beneath
a simple shroud;
a pomegranate
compensating
for a blood-rich inside
with tangible secrecy,
a peel
but I see
above the cinnamon
beneath the grape leaves
your body
glows
like gold
you
deliquesce
into
anonymous
black
you,
the scent of your skin,
your hot matter
enlightens me
of the glamorous
tastes
within
I savor complex
flavors,
I usurp
your
obscurity
my melting
palms
liquid
drenched,
I press (slowly)
your heart
into
my lips
I press slowly
your spice
into my cauldron
loving
thick
exposure
revealing
taste
beneath
the monotone
of tenets
unearthing
flesh
beneath
your skin
Emma Lovelace