Tendrils

There must be things about you, woman, that
heaven itself covets, bright jagged bits
I should recognize from angels like you:
never one colour for too long, so to
know my way round your impetuous edges
is to step into the heart of a flame
not unafraid but incapable of
getting away from the fascination...

Or are you some new voodoo yet untried?
For how else could a girl have pearls for eyes?

Visions of hidden treasures spring to life
in the undercurrents of time spent
counting the hours between now and you
knowing what damage my rough hands can do
yet I seek the tenderness of tendrils...