tactile jazz

                       -‘to touch is to be human’
                                                                         Anonymous, words that sing

sway, swish,
stumble, and
trip

behind you, I slip,
hot breath
on your liquid nitrogen neck,
mouth melting beneath your ear,
the sacred spot – sweetmeat -
melt into me, dear.

‘Pluck me some of that jazz,’ you said
‘play me something off the top of your head.’
So let's play like we mean it,
strum, thrum, make you hum
-      see if you mean it.

Sway, swish,
shake and shiver,
gurgle against me,
like an underground river.

Lips find lips,
secretive as those freckles
and that darling dimple,
a landlocked abyss.

Hands claw at clothes,
a puddle of fabric on the floor
‘show you mine
if you show me yours’

Hands tear at skin,
raw tendrils raging
                 - where there's smoke, there's
flesh and jasmine:

My tongue-tipped brush strokes,
touches and tastes,
all the way down your spine
all the way up your waist
                                       – leaves no ink trace.

Jaws bite into your igneous skin
so toss your head back
close your eyes
– oh god, those eyes,
feverish as the magma gushing within.

Black hole teleport
so long as I’m with you
any time, any place,
just keep on doing what you do.

Come on, babe, do that jazz:
drum on your delicious skin
flushed flesh, carnation pink;
it's not just for fun –
too great a burn.

Stop.

Go!

Wait.
We can go anywhere we want:
inside out, above, and within
inhabit the void beneath the skin
and anywhere in between.

All that's left after:
silent, hot breath,
sweat,
stammering laughter

and cider apple kisses.