Caress-able
        Silky
        Smooth
        Vivid
        Arc
In liquid time.

Itchy bubbles
        Blistering
        Sucking
        Black hole
Of desire.

Cascading fire
        Melting
        Smoldering
        Searing
        Flesh
In lightening’s eye.

I watched him showing off his backbends and backflips, shirtless, baggy shorts. This poem is three snaps of him: his beauty; his desire, or mine; and the sweet wound inflicted by his beauty.