Sunday, November 6, 2011


In like a sliver, deep tissue reawakens.
Saxophone humming penetrates, I am alert
Muscles around the nape begin crawling...
Hibernating in their isolation...? For Winter? Forever?
But then, were they ever truly sleeping?
Hypersensitivities say 'no' and the tickling over senses,
Reverberate, undulate, ejaculate.

Sight immobilizes, sound travels quickly, touch begs in silence
Taste terrorizes the tongue, sweating in waves
The smell of skins melting, while the mind orchestrates;
Theirs is a desolate cry for a true strip,
Baroque in quality, the potential for fervent memories
They are lunar in their landing.

Volatility seeps in, attempting to steep regret
But fuck that mindless notion,
When the love drips in through either door
This convoluted consummation demands full attention
Full throttle; full frontal and when the pitch is hit-
On all fours.

This is the dehydration of the senses
The cock eclipsed the squelch and the scream
No sound issues, only the thick, sticky vacuum of 'enter'
The 'sucking in' found on this map, is the dilated pupil
Sexual, sympathetic affection, in a dimly lit circumstance
Tears the moral seams and loosens the cognitive reasoning

I can shake the nerve for one night.
Without boundary, judgement or discovery
There is no consequence when the relaxed muscle is given-
In the true absence of expectation...
So why then,
Is committing to the simple act of 'release'
So difficult?

When one makes love to the soul within
No amount of moisture, clench, squeeze, flexing, cavorting
Can replicate the trade taken,
That comes to pass between the eyes.
The 'come' from Love is most gratifying
...and far longer lasting.

A gold nugget procured in understanding
Holds greater value than the stone that was stolen,
Swapped in exchange for weakened flesh.
Fingertips that trip over goose-flesh,
That they have come to know and love- brag in silent excess.
Needing nothing more than the memory they make-

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