Friday night
in the black and white filmstrip,
an evening wind licks,
howls out clear and crisp,
can’t quite catch my breath;
heart-heavy –
touch your hand to my heart
and get ready –
the whip cracks back,
bitten into my bottom lip,
the tension slacks
and I twitched under your fingertips;
in rhythmic and seamless movements;
flows dominantly –
touch tongue to skin
and the outs and ins you find fitting –
burned through the dark,
your eyes made out of twinkly skies,
hand-fed meals for my Master,
a mouth full of sugary lies,
your touch breaks my spirit down;
leaves it for dead –
your voice sings the revival
non-stop in my head –
my body is awe-stricken,
whiplashed into submission,
flipped front and back,
on your overstuffed bed.

3 thoughts on “Overstuffed.

  1. martywilde says:

    Super expression!