moving fever

moving fever

I have high fever 
Which no thermometer can measure, 
You are lying at ease breathing next to me, 
Comfortable, unmoved in position you were on, 
The soft hair curtains your visage I can’t fully see, 
Your eyes closed popping up like corns; 
The same hair has covered your juicy lips, 
Yet some pink is oozing out of poor eclipse. 
Eyes hop or know to move, my nob’s turning around, 
The radio now shouldn’t touch for any moaning sound. 
To and fro high and low through your body beside, 
Fever inside is moving me with the heat outside.