poetry for the poetic: 5

LXX

when this madness
becomes home
as my lips, they crave
the mystery
of your sweet tasting skin
as my drunk solitude
claims off your delicate whispers
to dance from ear to ear
as the rage of wars
that course through my blood
and the insanity you motion
between each fingertip you possess
these free winds do more than caress
they suck my breath from my lungs
because 
you are pure heroin to me