She was ever-present
And a present for me
Naked with a little red bow
The best kind of gift
I am besotted
And head over heels
A slave to her image
Her odour devouring
My craving insatiable
The hunger is real
The thirst unquenchable
The obsession obsessive
The Anaïs Nin kind
What stories I could tell
Her body poetic

I could write endlessly
Or a septillion years
Whichever comes first
My pen caresses her skin
My tongue lavishing each word
Like a silkworm spinning its yarn
On her skin
A precious commodity
To be...