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Jul 2019
Moan.
      Y a w n.
Purr.

How I adore our meanderings.
Mornings of misfits, nomads,
waking to the sturdy fur of you,
     pecks, abs, inner thigh
unclad
body heat...

The world outside feels absent,
your hardness
your breath
presently
itching against yesterday's 5-o'clock
     shadow...

We breakfast on such sensations satin
A thousand thread count
sifting in grips of sheets
          creating
silken dunes of flesh creamy hues
soft mounds from our twist
                tied
tethered limbs
then opening those passages
with French kisses
     and humid licks
our lips like
camelback & cobra songs
to Sahara
           Heatwaves
where we worship obelisks
until slumber
has rendered us
              stardust and sphinx
mused and fused - our flesh again
in hymns
     this Sunday morning...

Less stealth of night but copious
is touch
         slithering undulations
         of parched needs
for us to swim in the hunger of its seas
Since sensing sensual stiffness
     your shifting
            your shaft
my blood collects
    to tighten what is mine within

When this grabs hold of us
like the blinding noon
we forgive
           that it is Sunday
mourn that I thirst for you.


Such thickets of urges
   juicy sweet confection / completion's
masculine deprivation
         half grin half flurry,
                     No worry
displacing thoughts of infection
secure in our relations...

Stretching with both my hands
behind me
        gripping with claws of the passionate
buttocks raised (waiting for rain)
as if to be seen & named
      by the gods' - creative breath and shame
           I yearn for your embrace
Heaven forgive me
for the heaven he gives me...

Affirmed
as though we were the firmaments
      sky without permission (or air rights)
to fly
comely
and in our rhythmic trance
we become Spartans
(with our war cry)
         Driven
                 Breathing
One defeat
          Shriven as we're falling
One choice to leap.

                          Exhale Olympus
Fallen pillars' hush.

Good morning, Love
   a taste of how Nirvana feels
constellations and the heavenly
wheel.
Stretching.
Eyes open to take in my world.
         Stretching

Behind
Reaching for you

if just briefly knowing
the whole truth...
Revised repost.
Butch Decatoria
Written by
Butch Decatoria  47/M/Las Vegas, Nevada, USA
(47/M/Las Vegas, Nevada, USA)   
285
       Jamadhi Verse and TheIdleOwl
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