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.
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.