poem: wistful contemplation –

26 Mar

…and I remember the sweet taste of your tongue
your hands folding into mine
the color of your eyes as they begin to fade –

we blazed past small talk
stilted conversation of reprisal,
recrimination and the summer we first met –

alone in a faceless room,
entwined and rolling
we fall in shadows
fall prey to our need –

…all I remember
the sound of your voice,
your moan, a schoolgirl giggle
muffled by pillow and sudden realization –

you show each secret
one by one they unfold
exposed to the senses
each limb, each inch of flesh
legs part at a fingertip’s touch –

breathing remains heavy
candles seem to flicker
penetration salvation
toward an ebullient sun –

your mouth becomes greedy
lips enchanting
focus blurs
sorrow bleeds from the tip of my quivering cock
your grip
unending –

I try to recapture speech but language fails me
only guttural utterances sound
primitive fables, primordial propositions
we are instinctual not creative
no reflection’s in monotone
no color beyond passion –

… and I remember
being in you
my furtive exploration
incantations for the dead and near dying
there are no windows
no political presentations
only skin and sweat and the sweet taste of you cumming
the final breath of exaltation –

…I remember each
article of dissolution
your lace bra and panty combination
the smell of sex and jasmine
a rose in a vase
the light on your eyes

we have our own way of fucking
an intellectual passage from reason
you dress
with deliberate slowness
I am wistful as I depart

there remains a memory of
on a bus near Chinatown
past midnight
hungry for that I cannot have –

you left me a message
that I never showed up –


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