Night falls. There’s a sturdy boned cap on my forehead,
while a chin rests up there and delivers sweet breaths.
2:00am and some stirring delivers me restless, dumb sighing
for a-touching and a touch filled with sleep.
Turn around, and I’m there- mouth on par to soft nipple-
Eros knows (god knows why) I’m felled, captive by this
one, who’s soft, and thick skinned at the same time
and blunt with a sharp word,
and testing my limits,
glanced into admitting,
until I’m quite ardent- all certain-
I had some dream in orange foothills tall and wide,
of mountains and the sun’s swift set and rise in seconds.
Slumped unstable from a fence for this
and figured shapes to match my suiting.
Found it taller, hung, hunched over,
bent, all beauty, but wanting much.
Wanting works I’ve got no art for,
skills I can’t acquire, or
deriding my golden, once much-loved foothills,
to rile or gauge intent.
Come morning I’ll rise and burn ‘em down.
All that I could acquire,
all razed, the vast stumps bask as proof:
Upshot of a strange desire.
What a mockery I should be tangled,
swept round by delicious smells,
drowned in a dug-down clutched-tight duvet,
parched of all my senses.
Felled in the night
by a welcome intruder, who’d
do a little dance, sing a little song,
welcome my thoughts to imagine him naked or
shy from the first sign of touching.
It takes the cold wind, conjured heat, no light
to spell it out for you,
not to write some lines you’re meant to say,
or coax you,
‘place your fingers here and trace, now linger…’
(all that melts away in the face of it)
but to let you see
yourself melt down to a small pile,
left for a dead (heart) or toppled king,
only to find that same heart, sitting,
spilling out your sentiments; words
so much like your own that
your skin feels like splitting,
lurching forth open-armed welcoming love.
I’d die if embraced like that, so-long resisted…
in waking I’m thinking a part of me did.
I have nothing to say about this
09/10/10 – 17/11/10