The poet writes to physical attraction.

Those times your eyes give up white heat
dry stare that blinks its way to wet
your lashes only flutter once and yet
they flail the dark of night and streak

all second thoughts as comets flash
and light the place where caution flees
when skin meets skin and ardor frees
two souls as recompense for fear’s cache

of reasons not to shout our dreams,
to live as if we wear each other
like a suit of clothes and smother
doubters plotting with their schemes

to thwart us from our hearts’ content
two bodies wet with passion spent.