your eyes seem to carry volumes.
deep set inside your sockets, flecked
with fire-light shadows and deep red ocre.
some would see this and think of romance.
your breath traveling against my chin and warming my jawline with humidity. a moaning similar
to the shriek of jungle birds and hoots of primates.
they would see your hand grabbing at my side, and see morning glory vines. your fingertips flashing bright orange similar to honeysuckle.
do you think they see the bruises?
I wonder just how often you weave your love poems into your teeth
when you bite into me.
when you take my flesh into yourself and devour my peace
like a cut from sweet, fruity flesh.
does my submission satisfy you?
or do you have these wild nights with the others?
do you go
out on streets and flash your smile?
do you let your fingers drip down sweet flesh laced with salt and lime juice?
do they open up to you more
willingly?
or do you take their silence as
invitation as well?
from the first moment your
geode lips scrape against my body,
until I am filled with a satisfaction
all your own.
I count three-hundred-and-thirty
seconds.
and during that time the cosmos breath,
and the stars continue to whisper
“goodnight”.