Sunday, January 29, 2017

T.M. (Temperature melting)

It’s me… I am 

that aloneness you feel. 
Let it deepen in you… 
let it flush beneath your skin… 
Think of that feeling 
like it’s my mouth at your neck 
and I’m saying your name.


Maybe this isn’t… wet… yet… 
like other loves we’ve had. 
Maybe it isn’t… yet… 
food fights and jungle cat screams 
and, “The fuck if I’ll wait 
till we get back home.” 
Maybe this isn’t… yet… 
back bends and rope burns, 
butt slaps and candle wax… 
Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it isn’t. 
Maybe, right now, it’s just you and me 
on a couch, listening to music, 
touching, talking, listening 
on a long, windy, winter night.

No comments: