The Mustache

An afternoon
Of languid desire
Alone,
Yet with you.
We 
Texted
Of word and work,
Weather and 
Whether to 
Take that quick nap;
Wished 
'You were with me'.
Slow long kisses,
Warm clutching hugs,
Squished breasts,
Ticklish beard.
Feverish embrace,
The primal dance,
A sweaty mingle,
Breathless tangle,
Your wavy locks,
Caught in my curly longs.

We exchange
Each a picture.
I send one without my shirt,
And you pout with a mustache,
Of your whorly inky hair.