The grey suit 

I've spent nights
watching you shift shapes,
delving deep into the globe of your face
recalculating vocal variances.

You're ancestors must have tamed something wild,
for when the fur of your face comes close
it holds a growl.  

I want your mouth around my neck.
Carry me to your den. 
make me one of you. 

Land body-kisses that dip teeth to taste
one single birthmark hip.
Can't hardly see it with this lighting.
Hand sockets full of lush.
        ...
The grey suit you folded last shifted slightly during landing.

It fits better now.
Think of me when your arms go through it.
Play your heart out with a beggar. 

Let a gypsy read your palm.
And on your first cobbled night in Barcelona
when you see the red dress,
carry only spoken water.
Truth in a clear tenor promise. 

A softened drum.
Kindess to hush the wild hearts.

A cup of steam
for which the sailor's wife will take her tea.