You’ve inflicted me with writer’s
block for I can think of nothing
but your fingertips as they fall
on my skin as inquisitive as lost petals,
or the days when our blankets
tossed themselves to the floor
because we didn’t want the slightest
obstacle in the way of our affection.
You have cursed my pen and my soul. You
have full reign over my verse and sleep,
but I wouldn’t have it any other way
because your lips in my hands —
that’s where you’ll stay.