Tuesday, November 6, 2012

fractured weave

i only keep my hand
longer on your face
across your neck
on the small of your back

in hope

that my hands remember this

this feeling
for i have tried before
running my fingers and hand
across my face, closing my eyes

it is your hand, your fingers
it never feels the same

how does my very own hand
and my very own fingers
betray me so

my very own extensions
mocking my inadequacy

what does your hand have
what do your fingers do 
that is so special
what you hold

what you hold
is a spell
written in lead
i want to be that pencil
that you hold
in your hand

your fingers wrapped around me
with a purpose
leading me
me a pencil

and your fingers, together taut
in a slow tango
across the ballroom of lined paper
or even blank
how does that matter
it does not
not one bit
all that matters
is that we dance
we dance and not stop
right now

right now
i want to rip my clothes off
rip them off
and get on the floor
on my four

arch my back
and stretch my neck
and raise my face

facing you
my moon
my very own special moon
the rising of you
raising an animal
inside me

like a beast
not harmful or vicious
one just led by his instincts
his instincts ruled over
by your scent
the scent of the moon
the scent of the moon
i raise my head and howl

i howl
begging you
to fill me up
with your scent

these moonbeams
are paths made by your scent
teasing me
telling me
to follow them
that they would lead me to you

so i follow
i howl and i follow

you are up there
aren't you

looking down
from your celestial box
looking at this man beast
less a man more a beast
every passing minute
not one that is vicious
or malicious

just following
your scent
the scent of the moon


make this night stay
make this night stay
don't let it go
make sure it does not leave

let me hold your hand
as you extend your arm
to clasp the night 

in your palm

the colour 
of the night
dark blue
a sprinkle of

colours of the night
your hands

squeeze the night
squeeze it harder
till your knuckles

constrict the night
till its colours ooze

smother it
till the night has 
beads of sweat
on its forehead
upper lip
tip of the nose

smother it
it has no choice but
to open its mouth 
to breathe
and raise its hips 
to meet the thick
oxygen halo
right above

make it 
its drying lips
make them 
so that we can feed it
forcibly, if needed
pills of ecstasy 

the night
this sweetly thick 
musky night
take away it colours

wrench it hard
till its colours

a saturated sponge
this night
needs to be relieved
of its dark dark dark beauty

makes those colours
run up your wrist
your forearm
your underarm
your collarbone
your neck
your face
your eyes

i will catch them
when they reach your lips
and drink the colours
along with you

as we sit
alongside ourselves
watching us
sipping on the night
from our
primitive cups

we shall watch
the colours of the night
enter you
running down your throat
to your satin stomach
to the inside of your thighs

we'll let the night
and its colours
that they both 
can escape

just when they think
they really can

we'll trap the colours
of the night
between our hips

and take these liquidly colours 
and grind them
to a fine fine powder

and smear it all over our bodies
covering every inch
of our skin

our mouths full
our nostrils flaring
the pores on our skin
inhaling the night
and its colours
dark blue
a sprinkle of