Bottle to a chill

There are no keys under the mat or Blue colours bright to your eyes nor wine bottles in chill  to a bucket of taste awaiting...your lips

eyes and breast to the feast of a dancing tongue to the need upon

you laugh to no words a silent to caress ever thought I am on you

Can I love
can I see within your coming
a scent of who you are to me
 
A minute left ...an hour spent
Time is  to be repeated on this 
For promises must be met ...promises must be met