Drink

I’ll keep you in this bottle,
watch you ferment.
You’ll age just fine,
when I slide the cork screw in,
you’ll satisfy my errant need for wine.

Because I am weak,
with you in my mouth,
swallowing each gulp,
until I black out.

So close to my lips,
each swallow
adds to your allure.
I’ll push the stopper back in
and come back time and again, to refill.
My lust palpable,
Cold, and bitter at first.
The need to taste you,
quenching my unshakeable thirst.

Because I am weak,
with you in my mouth,
swallowing each gulp,
until I black out.

Counting Daylight

The need for you, us… lust
and to deny human touch.
Where were you all those years?
I gave up.
My head scanned for you, imminent souls colliding,
physical yearning, and nothing left to deny me.
Nothing special here,
I saved my guts to stretch
out on your bed,
just to hold the back of your head,
your neck clamped in my vice grip fingers.
Weigh me down and pinned inside your spare, fervent thighs,
so tightly wound, box me in,
make the sheets tremor and writhe.
Left to the mercy of night, or anytime the urge
takes you from prostrate,
to legs and waist,
coiling in the sheets where I can find your warm spots,
wasted not– but taken fully in stride,
and grappled flesh, impossible to hide.
Never lost on a man, who cannot adore you enough.
Counting the digital numbers, seconds, and texts;
all drawn out in hours, not breaths
… Until the next moment we touch.