Boredom, You Beauty

I crouch
at the end of an endless abyss
showing dark
in your passive eyes, 

stare
at the fruits of your amber body
where a fire burns,
but the bush does not die.

The golden gleam
of your polished thigh
reflects
my unquenchable fire

which tortures
with an eternal “I”,
but plunged in yours,
would leap higher.

Why, then, do you smile
at my hesitancy?
Or is fear the betrayal
of desire?