On the Analysis of a Friendship

we lie in a lake of sated lusts

in pools of sacred sunlight

on floors of down, wool against bare skin

need itches beneath me,

 and my hands paint a picture of hitched breaths and furrowed brows

 a watercolour of want on my hips, of wanton fervour in the way your hair brushes my neck

i will not leave us as a question

we are but the antithesis of examination

 solely a statement

 we shall not be consumed