Your eyes:

The color of rich tea

In which the maccha

Is still thickly suspended,

Awaiting my tongue

Baptizing your eyelids.

_

Above a glassy pond

The sun sets scarlet:

The red half-moons of your eyelids

Casting pink shadows

Over your cheeks.

Your lips are parted,

Slightly.

_

And I can hear your breath whistle,

A reed in the breeze.

_

"My little one,"

Cupping your face with one hand,

Running the other over the front of your throat

Down to the collar of your jinbei...

I feel you swallow.

_

Kneeling, I am at the perfect height

To kiss the shadow

Where your Adam's apple might be.

You fidget

And I know you are uncomfortable

With our closeness

Though you always said you wanted to be close.

I rest my fingers, lightly

On your hip

And you make a noise

Of meek protest.

"Hush," I say,

"Be as silent and still

As a doll."

_

As I slowly undress you,

Your shoulders tremble

Like the throat of a purring cat.