Syrupy.

My skin’s sticky,

lips are salty,

licked by curiosity,

piqued to the extreme,

  • so syrupy,

my skin’s on fire

desire is,

a growing thing,

a thickly veiled,

  • necessity,

secret thoughts,

I’m entertaining…

 

come down here

lay next to me,

read from your books,

in the darkness to me,

  • tell me stories,

make me believe

in the God,

we both know you can be,

the line gets taut,

  • now I’m listening,

My Lord, My King,

I’m unworthy…

 

…and, this is the language

in your name, I speak.

Overstuffed.

 

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,
whip-lashed into submission,
flipped front and back,
on your overstuffed bed.

Ankles to Wrists.

When I am beneath,
the salt of your heat,
my insides keep rhythm,
to your heavy heartbeat;
When we are like this,
my body wants to submit,
to the flavors that make up,
the taste in your kiss;
something is:
somehow, amiss…
I taste a subtle
but lasting emptiness;
But I take refuge,
in your ownership,
so just come and do it…
get on with this;
sweat glistening,
heavy breathing,
you are listening,
I’m well-receiving…
how I’m glued to it,
I’ve been persisting,
with a molasses slow…
strong and steady flow,
against your resisting,
to my submitting,
in all my nakedness,
strings to ankles,
ankles to wrists:
tied up with a bow,
that my Daddy picked,
for days that he,
wants to re-open it;
his marauding way,
suits me best,
when his skin
is tightly pressed
stuck like glue against
my slippery,
and heaving chest;
it’s only then,
through darkness,
the song that you,
refuse to sing,
in your stubbornness…
and momentarily,
you belong to me,
then and there,
in the land of:
No Where…
I love when,
you let me see,
the face of the man,
who owns my body.

Ankles to Wrists.

When I am beneath,
the salt of your heat,
my insides keep rhythm,
to your heavy heartbeat;
When we are like this,
my body wants to submit,
to the flavors that make up,
an intoxicant in your kiss;
something is:
somehow, amiss…
I taste a subtle
but lasting emptiness;
But I take refuge,
in your ownership,
so just come and do it…
get on with this;
sweat glistening,
heavy breathing,
you are listening,
I’m well-receiving…
how I’m glued to it,
I’ve been persisting,
with a molasses slow…
strong and steady flow,
against your resisting,
to my submitting,
in all my nakedness,
strings to ankles,
ankles to wrists:
tied up with a bow,
that my Daddy picked,
for days that he,
wants to re-open it;
his marauding way,
suits me best,
when his skin
is tightly pressed
stuck like glue against
my slippery,
and heaving chest;
it’s only then,
through darkness,
the song that you,
refuse to sing,
in your stubbornness…
and momentarily,
you belong to me,
then and there,
in the land of:
No Where…
I love when,
you let me see,
the face of the man,
who owns my body.

Overstuffed.

p_a_i_n_by_the__pessimist-d5cynmq

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.