Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Touch

My hand is sending shivers and tingles and tremors through your body. Spasm and surrender.
Yielding to the edge, sending over and finding in the falling, you become a falling body in the heavens of
Our orbit. My hand pulls you to it from inside somewhere, some center point of mass,
this gravity of need and touch, contact and trembling,
and the desire to grind.

"I can smell your sex and body all over."

Electric sparks and lightning within the flesh, my little Van der Graaf alive
The pull attracts, attracts, tightens and tension, then
Sparking and release and thunder quaking, the release comes just
as I find this yes, and this yes, and this yes, and this oh yes
Subtle voids open at the tips of my finger where the feeling flashes over
The sensation is receding, acceding to its own needing, and ceding
space for me, voiding and expanding, preparing and demanding
For more than fingers and lightning touch and tingle,
Be still in flow, though, and pulse, pulse, wave, wave

Focus only on the flower unfolding and now standing
Yearning to fly like it will, when the seeds are ready,
Dandy lions are charming, manely to make you paws on his chest
his sleeping little darling star star.

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Is this wise?
Is this yours?
Is this love?

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