Drifting

I stake my hopes on the sweet irrational
Ardent faith in the virtues of truths unsullied by facts
Truths are subjective, facts are mortal
Burning offerings to pedants and mendicants
Gabbling madly in the lusty smoke

The gentle breeze of nonsense carries
Intimate laughter of distant chimes
The iridescent white of a moon I can reach

Her light a cool comfort
For cracked lips and fevered passions
drifting rudderless to wayward sleep

Quicken

I kiss the hollow at the arc of your collarbone 
the turn of your outstretched nape
test the resilience of tender skin
cool and iridescent, emanating heat in little measured pulses

Keeping time with quickening breath