Roughage

We are contained 

In the incense of our skin. 

Living to breathe freely

Through all things - felt,  unspoken. 

I wade into the roughage 

Seeking grammatical justice

Finding little appeasement 

In colloquial etiquette.

I want the murder of silence

To give birth to centrifugal forces

That will light the way for the animal in us 

To engage in wilder ecstasies. 

To ignite the flammable pools we've filled

With our unending leakage of dismay

Milked from duties met, 

As time yielded proven metaphors. 

Respect can lead to resurrection 

As cosmic interplay unwraps Eden

The willingness to advance further

Breeds. 

Into the eroticism of intellect

I swallow the ocean of you

To drink my fill of all things masculine, 

And moving. 

A mating pair knows, that even in their silence - verbose desire thrives

Adding weight to the heady ingestion

Of their moist existentialism.