Inquisition

Touch wood, splinting the cabinet lightlywith one fingertip, taut in your gentility. An arm drops to table, engulfs the musk of too long silent. "D'you love me?" andI paused!A second too long. "Do you?", I draw enamel left - right - left - molar-incisors march across fertile lips. You have eyes that buckle under, that find fresh outrageousfortune to feast on. "Do you love me?" One answer, false.