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UNTITLED
(About an ex)

      
      
      
        

     My tongue curls your nipples along the rim of my lips,
     pressing your breast in and out of my mouth so hard,
     as if to receive your divine nourishment.  
     
     My naked body lies peacefully beneath my sheets,
     premising, open and alone.  
     My hand is curled around my penis to the world I see above me.  
     And there you are.  
     As life should strike me before I breathe, and long after I exhaust.  
     You possess a piece of me that I cannot myself contain.  
     And so every moment I think of you, there you are.  
     And there I am.  
     And here we both shift in an eternity of love, hate, strife and benevolence,
     where our bodies mimic rhythm, yet fail to charter righteousness.  
     Before me, your fair skin shimmers,
     not in sunlight, but in fire.  
     I'm not afraid to get burned.  
     My kisses gently graze your slender build as I slump to the ground in adoration,
     more so than you would believe I've submitted.  
     Yet still, my knees grind the shag beneath your stature.
     I suppose that's the way it's always been.  
     I wrap my arms around your thighs,
     pressing your pelvis against my mouth.  
     My lips prance kisses against your unhooded clit,
     in total veneration of a divinity that I am so lucky,
     if even in passing warmth, to revere,
     like butterflies dancing on a wet summer flower.  
     I adore you.
     
     Do I have permission?
     
     You are so clear.    
     
     You slouch and roll onto your ass just a bit
     so that your back teeters on the floor,
     and your legs prop in the air.  
     You open up to me.  
     Shudders could not quell my fortune,
     something so simple takes me away.  
     Every sensation shakes my body,
     every taste delights my tongue.
     
     You are my Goddess.
     
     You control me.
      
     Your delicate guidance pulls me towards your face.  
     Whisper in my ear.  
     I think it's the moment I've been waiting for.  
     My mind's eye takes a break.  
     And though it's so clear in rapture,
     my true face squints with the pang of what's been so long denied,
     and congruently,
     the ecstasy of what should never have been forgotten.  
     Our bodies are lined up just right,
     and I think our heights match in a certain way.  
     There's really nothing left for me to do,
     I can't think of any reaction but to pull your body into mine,
     with the gravity of the soul.  
     And still, I caress your back with a confident familiarity.  
     Is it confidence,
     do you still love me?  
     You play that drum that makes me march.
      
     You possess me.
      
     A mess of sweat, heave and faces collide,
     wrapped in that moment where will yields to nature's wrench.  
     Naked flesh rolls in rhythm.  
     Your body rocks an echo of the time you wept upon these sheets.  
      
     And I drown.  
      
     But it's not over yet,
     so I breathe.  
      
     The shaft of my penis glides upon thick film,
     all the way up to your belly and back again,
     and each outer thrust collects another deluge of that warm pulse,
     grinding in pants and throws,
     loss and release,
     like the millstone powders the nourishing grain,
     as the shore's reef should bear witness to a full moon's tide.  
     Individuals could be lost in moments like these.  
     I feel like we are.  
     Body and soul mend in a provocative intensity,
     that moment we both had grown accustomed to.  
     Without warning you shift your body in a way,
     you make me rear into you.  
     You groan.  
     I roar.
     Nature made something so perfect when She made us,
     in primal dawning, you are my Queen.  
     Allow me, the knave knelt beneath your splendor?
      
     We relish the moment in childish jerks,
     commemorate,
     swim,
     laugh,
     embrace,
     play in a wet pond,
     press lips,
     lick tongues,
     awkward simplicity reminds us that we're still young.
      
     Then we find our rhythm.
        Then you press my face into your shoulder with the purity of familiar sentiment.
           Then the pace picks up.
           Then we both remember.  
      
     Emotion spins 'round a similar spool,
     ready to weave the throws that soften our loam.  
     I think you're beautiful.  
     My hand wraps around the back of your head,
     nuzzles your face against my neck so I can hear without distance or obstruction.  
     Accede the way I move,
     with every cry, moan, whimper and word.  
     Words have so much power.  
     I adhere to every last one.
      
     You command me.
      
     Empathy rules me now.  
     Every move I make, you call out to me, exemplifying;
     every cry you utter, I fall in love all over again.
     Your voice accolades any gallant man.  
     I know what you sound like when you cum.  
     And here again, there you are.  
     In melody, and in sound,
     if your body is shy of that mantle,
     then let me wrap you in the exigency of my heart instead.
      
     Please.
           
     I beg you.
      
     Shudders of your flesh,
     I know what's coming.  
     Bellows so natural, beyond even hindsight,
     but I remember what it sounds like.  
     Starting from your stomach,
     it must shake violently through your chest,
     absent of mind,
     grunting from your throat,
     bereft of will.  
     Your mouth quivers against my ear.
     You sound like a fucking animal.  
     I live for this moment.  
     A life is affirmed by the shout of your regard.  
     The reverberation of that voice reigns over me.  
     I would release this moment to the sky,
     but not short of your canon.  
     And then you bid me my allocation,
     one simple word and I must obey.  
     I shake with you,
     it ripples up from my gut.  
     Your name rings across my bedroom walls.
      
     I love you.
      
     You own me.
      
      
        
      
      
      
      
      

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4 Comments
EroAbstractionEroAbstractionalmost 13 years agoAuthor

Thank you! And I agree. I've been looking over it and found some lines I could cut short or cut out. I actually originally wrote this in paragraph form, like prose, and just decided to break it into stanzas. Most of my experience is in short stories, and I'm working on my first novel, so I find it difficult to keep things brief sometimes. I think I will practice with haiku. Thank for your advice.

twelveoonetwelveoonealmost 13 years ago
A5

excellent defense of "gravity", passable on the rest. This time I voted. (a 5), although most poems could stand a little weeding.

EroAbstractionEroAbstractionalmost 13 years agoAuthor

Im not sure there are really a redundancies there. especially "the gravity of the soul" is a contrast from the physical bodies coming together, illustrating the non physical nature of whats happening as well. i think the double meaning in gravity is important too. but thank you for you comment

twelveoonetwelveoonealmost 13 years ago
Serious need

of editing,

Start with:

You play that drum that makes me march.

with the gravity of the soul.

get rid of what has been said before

I did not vote.