I have lust on my tongue
Slipped from yours to mine
You left it there
When you spoke intimate words inside me
When you whispered between my legs
Words that entered me and sought out
The darker crevices to awaken
Those spots that shine like liquid latex
After you have undressed them from their hiding place
After you have made a river of me
A wetness amongst the calm
To elicit the warmth of the wild out of me
To be tasted and seduced
And to be filled with you
Like nothing else will sate
Like nothing else will feed me.
I told you
I have lust on my tongue
It’s the sound –
each word torn from lips
– that unbuttons my blouse
or slinks my skirt over hip,
access all areas
given to the breathing
that wets my lips
tightens my thighs,
lifts my chest and arches my back.
It’s the sound –
how sweated words that pant
let you loose
to colour code my skin
the way you do
a map of discovery for later
for private moments of private thought
– which brings memory,
almost tangible in its taste,
to flood the space between my legs.
It’s the sound –
heard from positions varied
– which flaunt themselves to me
when distraction no longer holds
and I slide between sheets
to sleep dirty
…and wake you, hard.
I no longer feel the weight of tiredness
fasten down my bones to the position of sitting,
or hold me still, sedentary.
Somewhere between all the ways
in which the years have taken from me
– love, laughter, the arms of my mother
– the daughter I was, the woman I was to be
a textured sigh slowly unfurled from my lips
and took the last fuck left to give with it.
I feel muscle in jaw clench like never before,
fists curl and eyes darken to toss out the blue
and fix sight on the image in the mirror
that I am learning more about each day.
There is no smallness in my stature anymore,
my shoulders are squared, braced, ready,
head lifted to dead-on stare down
the things I used to hide beneath.
To not be the girl I was is to see the who I am,
and the dust is settling on this new not-settling-for self
in ways that twist in my gut to push me forward
at times when I would shy away before.
I will no longer compromise my own bearing
to kneel at the feet of the not good enough
I once shined the shoes of
and lay down to be walked over for.
Is it wrong to finally move?
Is it wrong to have you circle around me for once?
Is it wrong to put you firmly in your place?
In the palm of your hand I place my cheek to be cupped
to lean gently on that warmth that I need so badly,
only to find the skin rough
the shape unfitting
and the weight I need to unburden
slips me from the holding.
Your hand an abrasive release that leaves skin exposed
to the cold air of a realisation
that you are a winter I cannot weather,
harsh winds whip my face
from the about turn you do now and then,
that shows me a cliffside for my waves to crash against.
Like the shouting I heave from my heart
I try to wake you up
try to make up
for the fact that it doesn’t matter
what need I hold within these bones.
Because it won’t be sticks and stones
it won’t be words,
it will either be the absence of that hand
on my cheek gently resting,
or it will be my own hand holding my own face
because I cannot trust the
weight of my world
on anyone else
It’s the velvet in the mouth, the roundness over tongue
which curves itself to fit perfect that dark glistening space,
it is this that brings you there at night when I am
when there is nothing but streetlight and sheets
softened by experience to covet my warm skin.
My tongue finds you there in the plump of my lips
your sigh in my ear makes me press them together
but do not smudge the words of breath you left there
for me to taste with every inhale and mourn with every release
I touch my finger to them and feel the indentation of your tongue.
– Can others see this too?
You chose the right letters to cover my skin in
the right fucks and God and please yes.
I want to be refilled, refined and redefined the way you do me.
I know if I scratch hard enough I will find you
ragged images and text that drench me to the bone.
Come again and speak on me,
come again and stain me with your words.
the very word feeling forbidden
on a tongue that has travelled
the peaks and valleys of your body
and flicked over
that reserved spot that makes you quiver,
I roll the word around
let it fill my mouth
seep down my throat
trickle from the corner of my lips,
even an escape is a capture of sorts
and I plan to keep you hostage
between these legs
Stockholm you with these stockings.
I show you my inner thigh
catch your hand and place it
like the popping of a cherry
blood red between finger and thumb,
on that hidden place
for you to feel the warmth of welcome,
an invitation for you
to cum dressed to impress
and enter into this most salacious of spaces
knowing that what lies here
awakens the heavy breath
stirs the mind for flashbacks that will distract
and ensure you endeavour to come back.
I cannot concentrate on the paper and pen
imagining the white sheets
as something to arch underneath
and grasp with every gasp in my hands
drawing a straight line
to things I cannot put down
to be picked up and discovered later
I sip coffee and it silks itself
to my tongue
like search and discover tasting
and slides down my throat
hot and not unpleasant as it burns.
The hard chair reminds me of red cheeks
a glimpse I caught sight of once you’d left
bereft of skin on skin soothing
now wood presses to reference again
but doesn’t make the sound
that cracks in my ears
and intakes my breath.
A salty night of it
I know it has soaked into my skin
wrinkling the tips of my fingers
leaving them staggered and rough
when tracing the lines on my palm
– All creases are distraction today
You say darling we’re stardust
I say where’s the hot bed of lust
You say we’re a kindred
I say our love’s the walking dead
You say this is how love is meant to be
I say I can’t love what I just can’t see
You say this is how love feels
I say I got a bum deal
You kiss with hard chaste lips
I want to kiss with grinding hips
You greet with a hug and a smile
I want to fuck more than once in a while
You listen to your own music all day
I want to hear us lose it during foreplay
You read papers and love to talk politics
I want to play with myself and suck your dick
You want to see us all old and grey haired
I can’t breathe anymore here I need air
You want to see my wrinkles as they grow
I want to get out before I explode
You turn to me and say “you’re mine”
I just turn inwards and slowly die.
A slip of the tongue
a flick of the wrist
I feel your words trickle
down the inside of my thighs
and my own slick itself
to your fingers
for tasting later
for handling fruit with idle thoughts
imagining delving tongue
between soft ripe peach
and bed warmed fig.
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
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.