How to capture in words the way you look with your head thrown back onto the pillow & the sun streaming in through the window the morning after the orgy. You are so serene, so effortlessly sparkling in your sexuality. The Sunday light dances upon your lips which part with such provocative ecstasy, your body arching lifting rising like you are reaching some perfect star-strewn peak where you hang for a moment, eternal & tantalising, before drifting back down to me. To where I wait with arms outstretched ready to soak myself in colour, running my fingers across your skin like I want streaks of you tattooed. I want to delicately undo parts of you so they drift from me like gossamer, like fairy’s web too soft to hold only touch as the light glitters gently through. Honey you are so majestic that me, as a poet, simultaneously hasn’t got the words &… has… too many words. Too many words as I lie here just watching. Too many words I wish I had a notebook or a camera so I could make it last forever: you, the glorious centrepiece of it all, you, black-pink silver moon.