[365; Day 249.]
(A Prose Poem.)
Do you remember what I said about rhyming, darling? How your slender, matching sounds took hold of me and drenched me like a spray from my bleacher-like bench on the shore? There's more, you know, that you have not heard--some words to make up for ground lost to the sea.
How your watery tendrils took my hand and dried my tears. How the fears were washed away by your horizon, sparking a new light of day in me, a blazing sun in my stomach to dry it all when I need, when I ask. Your work is never done, and you will come before we're through with this mindful task.
"You'll be okay," you say, and I believe because I know nothing else than the sieve of your trust sorting out all of my
musts and
pleases, my thrusts and teases that you need to live. And I know you will take me there, down on my knees, my mouth wanting only to please, my fingers like rivulets flowing at your hips, and my lips trembling while your voice is moaning, as I slip my tongue around your head and pull. I have already stripped, naked beneath your looks, and we are living out this out perfectly as if it were a book.
There is your upward lunge, your shudder as I expunge the stray thoughts from your head, replace them instead with only a greed, a sexual deed of milky pleasure and white-hot pain, where you have no need to gain the upper hand because mine are already working lower, slower. Then faster as you gasp above me, saying, "I won't last." And then I am working much harder, taking this further. As you place your hands in my hair, I find a new sense of being.
This seems so freeing, but to be fair, I will succumb to your every demand. I see a fine line by the sea, drawn by the sand between your feet and mine, and me, knocking the ocean, the silent waves of my mouth in motion, the answer is this, between the popping of ears and your sexual hiss: the current of my desire greets your toes with one final kiss, one fire floating out into the surges, one flame to shed light on my urges. You are my breath today, and as I take you in, you will be my death.
Poetry & Layout © Rosaline.