Lazarus (pursuit)

chasing her,
pursuing her down lines
of thought and
action that is linear
after a fashion,
wanting nothing more
than to kiss her mouth and
taste what emotions
she puts on me,
as we put flesh to flesh and
brush skin with each other.
i long for...
something,
like searching her body
for answers,
in her hair and
on her neck and
beneath her breasts and
in her navel,
in the crack of her ass
and the insides of
her thighs,
tasting her salted
skin and savoring
the meaning of this moment,
and i'm chasing,
pursuing a pleasure that
makes itself known in
the way she moans,
with her lips rubied and
parted and her eyes
laser slitted,
her nails painted with
the blood she's stolen from
my back as i
insert tab into slot
constructing an orgasm,
pursuing nakedness,
to feel the avalanche of her
orgasm,
to watch as she shakes
the world of her being
with the steady fricative
across the dermis of
her clitoris
and she cries out as if
being expelled from the garden
of Eden
and accepting her fate
in exchange for a moment
of fruited lust.
pursuing,
wanting, needing,
dying without and
dying within as
i spray hieroglyphs on
her cavern walls and
in the depth of her
womb-cave,
and i become
Lazarus,
awaiting my savior's
spirit to
make me rise
again...