a toiled mass
c. 2005, Miriam M. Wynn
your mouth, so lush, so ready, so moist,
always opening with a rich hunger cloaked like honey,
dragging me down in drunkenness fermented
on the slow and steady, hectic yank of breath between us;
your mouth, and feasting eyes,
as though I were a meal for a starving man
you are drowning and I am the rope not just to earth but heaven;
fixed under your gaze I am frozen, on the petrie dish of your palm
looking down at the expanse of you
your flesh a soft and lush expanse.
slide myself, against you, I slide myself,
and my skin has yet to find yours, but I am sliding,
over and over, on, in, at, under,
two tangled draperies at a storm-exploded window,
obsessed with combining our threadcount into the millions,
dispersing into the galaxy, tearing one another apart in
a mad frenzy for being more than what we are alone
and forever more a toiling mass together.
this friction, this friction,
rubbing against me with that mouth,
that quirk-set pair of lips,
curving in wonder and in awe,
as though you made me, and now you've found me,
and beneath your artist's fingers you will make and unmake me,
again and again.
you hear me sobbing, you do not care,
or perhaps you care, your want increases with each noise
I make,
and your own raw urges are expelling on angry groans
and heady whispers,
you talk talk talk and you knew that when you made me
I would surrender to that magnum opus of sounds echoing
from deep inside your groin, your loins, your nether world,
where you are dragging me with the reach of your fingertips
to trail against my collarbone, my hip,
the undersides of my wrists;
all of me is atremble,
I am calling your name as I fall down into the precipice
and you are finally betwixt my thighs and worshipping,
at worship with your precious tongue and feather lips so lush,
like all of you, so lush, so rich with sin and lust,
a man made in this world like another handful of stars I have been carrying with me
all my life,
one I was meant to fall upon like a banshee in her wail;
and you have unstoppered me from a bottle
of a thousand useless beds and pointless men
to attach myself to you like a vampire,
and you did it knowingly,
and I let you knowingly,
and so we know each other, biblically, fitfully, selfishly,
undulating while your fingers slip inside me
pulling out drenched rivers and tears and all the begging of a little girl
the madness of a woman,
your fingers prying and pulling and squeezing and pinching,
the garbled grunting of a madman,
and beneath our lust we are found and reckless,
we two ships forcefully smashed against each other on the bucking oceans,
collapsed and come to shore,
wrecked and keening on one another,
your flesh inside my flesh, your limbs tangled slickly, beautifully with mine,
a toiled mass, forever more.
For: Marton Csokas