When you grabbed my thigh, you planted comfort—
When you kissed my palm, you anchored a fire.
Your tongue was my titillating consort,
And my tongue became your pacifier.
We baptized ourselves in molten lava,
To quell that which burned inside of our hearts.
Our chamber took the fragrance of java,
From our contributions to the Beaux Arts.
Our installations hanged from arched doorposts,
And night-gowns hovered above us like ghosts.

When I kissed your neck, it graved desire—
When I handled your breasts, you came undone.
You squirmed around in your damp attire,
When ecstasy turned your black eyes to dun.
We occupied the tablelands of lust,
And fed the flames of steamy obsessions.
Like the arm to spear, I became your thrust,
In reveries of racy confessions.
The fog consecrates wherever we are,
For we shine brighter than the brightest star.

Where my sweat swelled, it grew your brows anew—
Where my strokes once lived, made your limbs quiver.
And when that storm, again, begins to brew,
I do not keep you warm from that shiver.
Our tremors overwhelmed the ocean floor,
And upturned the earth in the Milky Way.
Slumbering seafarers were washed ashore,
And dismal dolphins could not but be gay.
We burned like the phoenix to sprinkling ash,
To release past lovers accursed to gnash.

When your body became a paste near mine—
When your lips dripped with breath so satiny.
You wrapped your arms around that frozen vine,
That stopped you from drowning into Lethe.
Love is only taken as offensive,
By those whose eyes have never beheld it.
It shows in their being dreadfully pensive,
About ways that they may spoil it with grit.
And when love is hanged at envy’s gallows,
Will the hangman bask in loveless shadows?








Photo by Jennifer Marquez on Unsplash