Tryst

Lately each morning when I look
in the mirror
my cheeks are flushed
and my skin still smells of you.
My tangled hair tells tales
of a lover's tryst
and my lips are pink
from kissing you.

Cause something like my soul
slips up to heaven
to rendezvous with yours
most every night.
And the memory of your hands
swallows me with such tender grace.

Filled with barbaric light,
Spilling intoxicating allure
I allow myself to plunge
into the taste of exasperated
electric rapture.