Erotas

 You please me,

Like a mouth aching for the warm nourishment of food.
Like lips, drier than the sands of time.
A belly, empty and foreign to the feeling of contentness.
Like a hand, cold and alone.

You please me,
In ways words can’t describe.

Like a slow burn at the core,
Or hot, fresh tears.
Like the slow curve of a blossom.

You comfort me,
In ways that are hard to hide.

Like a deep blush upon the face of a deceased women.
Or the fleer of happiness through blazed eyes,
Like the incapability to avert sappy eyes.