Sestina: a Whisper

Please, do not hear me softly
when I part across the quiet
and lean in close to whisper
how I desire to taste your flesh,
The salt of your warmth,
The salt of your love,

For when I speak of love -
Never, never softly -
As you hold on to me for warmth
while we walk in the quiet
night, I will imprint the word in to the flesh
beneath your ear, with a whisper...

Though it can be hard to whisper
when you do the little tricks I love,
Dragging your nails across my flesh,
Pulling on my lower lip, but stepping softly
as we do our best to stay quiet
while we retreat inside for warmth...

Wrapping our blankets around us, the warmth
of our form entwined in the whispering
sheets, displacing the quiet
with those little giggles I love
and smiling softly,
admiring our flesh,

We will revel in our animal rush, flesh
tingling when I bite your inner thigh, the warmth
enticing me as I explore your softly
moonlit body with the whisper
of skin on skin, testifying our love
to the cold silence

With ragged breath, banishing the quiet
within our own flesh
and awakening our ephemeral love!
Later, in the glow of our warmth
and speaking in a bare-whisper
I would still lie listening to you breathing, softly...

For when I break through the quiet, and you feel my warmth
on the flesh behind your neck, when I whisper
that I love you, I do not mean it softly.