Does the shiver begin at the knees? Or merely
snake way down from the center of the redolent V,
the stomach pit, or somewhere deep in the chest?
Its need for air and for you equally desperate,
yet how sweet that shortness of breath.
The arch, articulated toes into empty mouth
of my empty belly. Calves like shorn grass, I take
each blade into my steaming compost, and with this heat
I'm ready to taste the crease behind knees,
my tongue upon your envelope, heedless
of paper cuts, knowing the softness
of this fragile space of neglect.
It is mine and all yours for this moment,
as I open today, in my own slow way
as if to say, you very well might be my One.
The backs of your thighs, set upon my table beset
with mouthfuls of torment, as I cleave to the skin and bury the sin
in this rapture I lick with such want. The tongue in the crease
of your ass, I seek your center again, I revel in skin
as I tease each nerve and nerve ending.
Slowing to taste, refining my haste
towards your every last swell in its glory.
The small of your back, no lack of care and trust
in this sharing. I'll rumble my fist, and swear
this is our story. Upon your languorous back,
a hard gentle kiss as I slither to your neck,
which I bite and bite and bite again,
but softly I'll kiss beneath your hair
as secrets fall to into air. Your crown,
your head is near which
I will kiss in a softness
that startles even me.
Originally published April 2009