tongue in my mouth that isn’t mine, speak me there with unworded love,
say what you think of me silent, with your lips pressed on my body
say what you think of me, with your mouth full of my flesh
Inside of mouth silks in fluid slow motion
There’s a flatness to you, paper-white in my hands.
There’s a smoothness to you and I fill your unrealness with my love.
I fill my heart with unstoic, dispirited silence,
When I am fraught, your image flaunts itself, shows me the love I cannot see.
Even though I know I shouldn’t be aspiring to this – which I’m not-
it would be so much easier to stumble through life, knowing that I could come home and fuck you.
Just to take your hand in the supermarket, or the bar, or at a bus stop and let your presence lift me up.
Feel the plunging realness of love in different circumstances.
Whose beliefs make you up?
Whose fingers wake you up?
Whose voice takes you up, lets you lift beyond your means?