The Tangible Hunger

You told me to teach you poetry.
I’m telling you,
Mesh your lips with mine
And we can call it erotica.

I want your fingers
Splayed against my side;
Don’t worry if your nails dig in.
I want your signature etched into my spine.

If I can’t feel your breath,
You aren’t close enough.
Every inch of me exists in this moment
Purely for your rapture.

I can tell you are teasing me now,
Testing me to see,
If I will break at the possibility of tasting you.

My skin can be sugar against your mouth, if that’ll make it sweeter.
And if you teeth graze my neck, feel free to bite down.
Consider my collarbones your rock candy.

How does one feel ecstasy?
Palms flush
With my hips,
Legs on either
Side of your lap.

Trail your fingers through my hair,
And I will kiss your every crevice,
Your every shadow,
If only to heal the hollow.

If any part of you is breaking,
Let it only be from friction.
If you heart is shattering,
Let it only splinter with every heady exhale
that elicits itself from my mouth.

The naive call this “drunken stupor”.
Are you dizzy at the thought of your unbecoming,
All done while sober?

This is all if and when our bodies merge.
This is not some power outage,
Rather an electric surge.
This is hormonal cry;
Pheromone urge.

I beg you not to undress me with your eyes again,
Heavy, and lidded for the bedroom.
My lack of patience will inevitably lead to my doom.
But I will fall into your hands, eager and anticipating.

If our tongues touch,
At least we know there is not the issue of a language barrier.
But I have a feeling
I will reply universally
to the faintest trace of your fingertips.
I was always fluent where your heat was concerned.

I will plead with you not to make me beg,
Unless you have to.
But if you can creatively unravel me,
I will welcome my undoing.

You already know I’m like putty,
When the one who has me sifting through their fingers
Is you.


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