There’s things to miss when one’s alone,
that liquid jolt,
the murmured sighs,
light strokes on back of neck.
The deep felt crave which sleeps most days
does rise in burnished night,
tampered down from weary limbs
but lurking all the same.
It is a choice to be alone
though soon my gates fling wide,
I know a sultry song we’ll hum
as we immerse and dance as one.