it’s not you…
what spring does…
I want to do with you what Spring does with cherry trees.
-Pablo Neruda –
your very flesh shall be a great poem…
it went like this…
I want you, your brain, your body
(yes)
to fuck me senseless, to leave me with whisker burn for days
to feel naked even with clothes on
for want of remembering the way you look at me
(moan)
i want you to kiss me everyfuckingwhere
and lick me
grab me and hold me
(yes, fuck)
i want you, your brain, your body
to make love, sweet and gentle and slow
to me, just me
to love and fuck
fuck and love
(it’s all i want)
until i am turned inside out from care
left beautiful for your caresses
left shining from deep adoration
(fuck, yes)
our lingering goosebumps
a living torture
wanting to give more
a testament to shared desire
this once-gift
(yes yes yes)
an irretrievable truth between lovers
– Lola Moi –
siren song…
elsewhere
later
under cover
breast against your ribs
still warm
ripe
she enters our room
on windless calm
the fertile earth
and spreading plain
of her promised land
whispers
(and how the lyre plucks)
across continents and over seas
lapping
lapping
lapping
waves of heart’s content
bound tight ’round her mast
sail on
a wiser man
and leave me sleep
– Lola Moi –
words that undress you…
