My white robe, woven with golden thread lies spent on the floor, an asp’s shed skin.

Verbena hybrid scents the tomb.

Ivory linen crinkles and creases

you embalm me with the sheet,

a sarcophagus. Honey lips linger.

Milk thin fabric sandwiched between naked flesh

does nothing to ward off the whispering chill,

your mouth the heater here,  there and yes, there.

You snake up my skin, slowly send chills,

then lap them up with warm tongue in waves.

Preserve me in opal radiance, wrap round,

a numb mummy, your gift of jewels spark

the flame, hot hot heart.

Pressing through the veil, teasing, lingering

take me I hiss through full red lips that gasp

and you unveil me at last.