bank on boudoir

the little tears in my lace
  are from my own indelicate fingers
             three sheets to the wind,
                           dealt in haste
     everywhere they are placed,
        your tattoos [& the colors they hold
                                      stand emboldened]
                       
      I try not to stare, but
        I’m afraid I’m besotted
          waiting for the skylights
            to motivate me otherwise
                but I don’t think for a split second
                                               it’ll work
        
              I have to know now
               how you sound
                when you’re thrilled
                 and spill over 》
                  like my cup runneth . .

   –LM