Saturday Night

mane of hair
halo over your Grecian face
golden proportions perfected
every ounce of bone, skin, flesh
is perfect and
my own insecurities hold me back
from tracing my name down your spine
and kissing your collarbone and each rib
kneading and needing your hands to hold me
as you enter my watered gates
over
and over
and over
over
over
and over
again.
Please,
again.