All Mine

Your ivory breast
owns not my care,
nor touch,
nor fevered mouth
to rising peak.

No more
than
your powerful
leaping
hip
to its descent.

Your archer smile,
level brow,
cupped cheeks —
these
own not my care nor touch.

But borrowed
in my sleep,
granted
to my phantom senses
in fractured
clime —

all mine.
all mine.

March 1, 2026