Right…there

A mistake was made
a slip, with teeth grazing over hip
bone and fingers counting
the pulse in my neck
with tongue reading the fine print
between hungry thighs
and errors counted in lust locked
eyes that knew too much with one touch.
That came, invited, delighted at
the way in which this miscalculation
of misfired sexualisation that shook
me real good this time
placed tongue caught between breath
and beat to expose lip between teeth
to hold back the betrayal
that every shiver gave away
to give way to something forgotten
something shushed to sleep down low.
That hot fizz that starts at the
base of the throat and slides
slow
like honey
like warm malasses
like bourbon over ice
down to spread its heady warmth
in places that hold dark spaces
and matter that matters
that slicks fingers in many mouths
and demands a voice I barely recognise
to beg, please, I can’t afford to remember this.

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3 thoughts on “Right…there

  1. I will beg-please, eagerly.

    Seriously, this is incredible poetry. Please don’t keep writing.

    These are my favorites:

    “bone and fingers counting
    the pulse in my neck
    with tongue reading the fine print
    between hungry thighs
    and errors counted in lust locked
    eyes that knew too much with one touch”

    “something shushed to sleep down low.
    That hot fizz that starts at the
    base of the throat and slides
    slow”

    You are delicious, honey. (sans comma)

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