| Tumble
Dreaming of the little man in the boat, I wonder if she can feel my breaths tumble As I dare unlock her blind but without release, Left to want that soiled exhaustion that comes To me in a slow drizzle, parting my parched lips With the flavor of her kindred name, warm As sugar apples and the flow of low-lit escapades. It is this ancient tumbling, the loosed shadow turning One finds only in the moldable female of her, This lorn cotton�s cream, that gives want To pondering and the unquiet startling That delivers the loins into a barely-noticeable grind All these miles away, fathomable but untouched, Grasped and stiffening to enter her�such a fine rose, Un-flowered, quilted, glistening, Waiting, to move and find acceptance, Primal and unsophisticated, the deep strumming Heartbeat settling into no cage without lust, The spider-webbed dewy tip that lingers Momentarily on finger before disappearing Into the mouth to light all the loosed suns. It is all fair. It is all well, this wet want To know her most intimate angles, To feel the neon slide she calls forth As she bends the most drastic, unnatural ways Into the most natural and common acts As long as I can feel her coming Unfastened, warm and lucid, blessed and sheer, Against me, over me, through me, into me, As I tamp my hand against her stomach And gorge on her contractions, turning The suction of my mouth, The deliverance of my tongue, The nuance of my lips from key to dam, changing My appetite to wild wolf from average man. roadpan � 2005 |