Dawn

Creeping into my bed at dawn,
the orbit between your thighs
pinions my hips
like a saddle.
Soft, supple leather,
tooled and worked,
sliding down on me
in greedy gasps
of damp skin
and dark secrets
that leave scars.
My fingers tear into you
and unfold your heat
, fine tuning the friction of our skin,
rubbed raw
against the silk sheets.