ah, there's the honey
right in front of you
labeled for eating.
give me information
and take off your blanket
(unless it's snowing,
and if it is, promise to take me with you):
to play.
oh, there are faces,
beauty, reaching out
beneath eyelids because
direct contact is where confusion strikes.
snuggle buddy
you feel like silly putty
you mold and mash into me
warm and happy.
tying
and trying
to escape the binds
we wrap ourselves in.
we sweat, we sleep,
wake up hungry.
sit across the table
from each other,
in the corner,
and try
not to
stare.
give me a bite
I just want to taste what you taste.
constant communication
my hands are clammy but running them through your hair seems nice.
you let me lift fingers
tap gently, crawl scratching:
don't stop. don't.
no.
you shake your head
faster than the cold
shakes my legs.
I understand when to back away.
but here I am.
in your arms,
all sweetly woven
that it's me you've chosen,
but I relapse through thoughts
of conversations that remind me that
this is more stimulation than either of us
are used to.
we need time to relate.
some self-stimulation: **********
give your body away less than you want to.
notice the difference between stimulation, gratification,
and feelings that need to subside.
letting go
falling through
breaking up
it's all puke in the mouth
the taste is indifference
and I swallow it back
without choking or spitting.
thoughts of you: staying cautious.
I'm drinking through thin fingers
my throat is a pillar, an obstacle.
my dead end is an abrupt answer:
so clear. restless, and easy. feeling
the need to move. risking my senses
for more adventurous hostilities.
things take time,
but what if time and I aren't speaking?
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 10:58 PM UTC
ah, there's the honey
right in front of you
labeled for eating.
give me information
and take off your blanket
(unless it's snowing,
and if it is, promise to take me with you):
to play.
oh, there are faces,
beauty, reaching out
beneath eyelids because
direct contact is where confusion strikes.
snuggle buddy
you feel like silly putty
you mold and mash into me
warm and happy.
tying
and trying
to escape the binds
we wrap ourselves in.
we sweat, we sleep,
wake up hungry.
sit across the table
from each other,
in the corner,
and try
not to
stare.
give me a bite
I just want to taste what you taste.
constant communication
my hands are clammy but running them through your hair seems nice.
you let me lift fingers
tap gently, crawl scratching:
don't stop. don't.
no.
you shake your head
faster than the cold
shakes my legs.
I understand when to back away.
but here I am.
in your arms,
all sweetly woven
that it's me you've chosen,
but I relapse through thoughts
of conversations that remind me that
this is more stimulation than either of us
are used to.
we need time to relate.
some self-stimulation: **********
give your body away less than you want to.
notice the difference between stimulation, gratification,
and feelings that need to subside.
letting go
falling through
breaking up
it's all puke in the mouth
the taste is indifference
and I swallow it back
without choking or spitting.
thoughts of you: staying cautious.
I'm drinking through thin fingers
my throat is a pillar, an obstacle.
my dead end is an abrupt answer:
so clear. restless, and easy. feeling
the need to move. risking my senses
for more adventurous hostilities.
things take time,
but what if time and I aren't speaking?
