I hang suspended,
hot inside the cool tones
of muted grape dreams,
where the reds of a spiced wine
seep past my lips
to dance upon yours.
You are beautiful,
in the hues of my passion,
and I could be beautiful
beneath you, in foreign lands,
and within your secrets,
until I come home reeking
of lavender and my undoing,
and cursing the moon for casting
its heavenly glow a world away.

© Nicole Lyons 2017