she tastes like something
inside slick
and red between the legs,

her mouth makes lips
make hips
and i between them

churn thickly
over the cup and hem
hot within bleeding;

my mouth drinks her
lips speaking–
drinking lips

and mouth, my
fingers drown inside
her; i kiss over fumbling


and she tastes

(and i taste)

inside our mouth:

rust,

       .

the eyes turn over fingers
turn over wine and flesh,

teeth tasting and small
inside the hips

(where my mouth lives
with 2 blades of youth.)

within these lips
are 2 folds of kiss,

pulling with feeling
to saltwine and ****.

Does loving want *******, only?

(I'm not sure–after all
maybe because
what else has a hand
ever turned over
the hem of something
supple soft and spun
within its thighs 2 thick
fingers of gasping?)

Love is it even, really?

(I've never known no loving
unless it had its mouth draped
over my hips and I broke
sighing through heart and lung
its swallowing throat.)

What is purely something if not loving?

(loves not nothing–but it's rubbing.)

i laugh:

i am sleeping somewhere,
the sound is halfway between
nothing, and something
is quickly some sharp breaths.

i pull over the night is
coolwarm wet inside the lips;
autumn is full and rotting
with the terse hush of moon light.

(i don't know what i am doing here)

           my muscles coil and wax
i tug the covers sharply
          my flesh washes in roiling heat

i wish for something soft
something neatly apart and needs me;
my lips fumble with a dry kiss:

"I love you. I want you. Please."

"It's like, I know you love god, but I
just want to bend you over a table and
*******–and I think you want it too.

I know you believe in all these things
and far be it from me to say they are
wrong, but under your skin I can
tell there is something else.

You pulse with something raw,
painful, and violent.

You seem to tremble with palpable aggression.

Give me the pain–give me the Valkyrie
I know you are.

I want you to hurt me, and I want to hurt you. Your neck is so pretty.
All I can think of is what it would
feel like in my hand.

We could be something so ugly and
beautiful. I can feel it within you.

It seems barely contained within you.

But maybe we shouldn't.

Maybe you shouldn't.

I don't want you to do something you don't want to.

But I want you. I want you to want it."

You stand very close to me I can
feel the heat from your skin it leaches
into my skin I am breathing (smallly)
your breaths as you are smallly
breathing mine my hand accidentally
touches your hand I'm (not) sorry I
wonder are you sorry I touched your
hand very close to my hand and I
would like to touch it I would like to
taste you between the near wetness of
your lips and drink the fair vial of your
health I wonder why do you stand so
close to me I hope it's because you
want to accidentally touch me 2.