I struggle to anchor myself

beneath your gesturing tides.

My fingernails drag red ribbons

across the canvas of your back.

Your body is a Rorschach

of impressions and temptations.

The shape of your mouth

on consideration leaves me

wet and malleable.

The color of your eyes,

the angle of your jaw,

the shape of your nose

a beauty subject to proselytize.

I can think of a dozen ways

to worship you

using only my tongue.

None of which involve words.

All of which are poetry

in their own way.


I can feel you growing

desperate inside of me.

Your instrument filled

with music and the distress

of involuntary surrender.

If it were possible I’d let you carve

your soul directly into mine.

Wherever our pulses

overlap they are amplified

and if I had thoughts left to spin

they would be lost against

the breakwater of our bones.


Your breath dismantles

in the crucible of my ear

like soft, feathery wings

against a seductive halo.

I want to be reduced to pulp

by your nimble fingers

and when I have become

unstitched I want to feel

your tongue stoking

the scoria inside my chakras.

I am held together

only by the heat

of our synthesis

and the repetition

of your name.

Your name made obscene

by the installation and enunciation

of my ceaseless desire.

Your name a mantra,

a prayer, a star unfurling.


Deify me. Vilify me.

Love me like you

intend to give me

the moon afterwards.

I want to consecrate

every inch of your skin

with my bruised and bloody heart.

Your sex drenched, rooted

and strangled between

my milk pale thighs

fills me to excess

and all I can do is swallow.