i would make love to you like words down upon the vellum, begin with frantic scratchings of the quill, but finding the circadian rhythm of the lines

you deserve to be ravaged like poetry from the lips of the classics, taken like the modern greats, expounded like the epics of the formative firsts

imagine these callused finger tips, so used to deconstructing prose, trailing across the harmonic wonder of your skin, tapping out verse to match your heartbeat

whispering odes, hot breath against your ear, voice penetrating your lobes with feverish intent, barely concealed need and desire upon your neck

the scruff of my beard as my lips quiver in romantic preludes, the tip of my tongue darting to taste your flesh as prose is spilled with heat and unbridled passions

i would make love to you like words spilling from a shaking quill, tracing gently upon the vellum of your soul, leaving ink spots of shivering yearning on your skin