Does it become too difficult to withstand?
This throbbing pang below
begging to be soothed
by a careful tongue
that speaks in mysteries,
in forgotten incantations.
Like a knot that screams to be
untied by knowing fingers
that answered the one
question whispered…
Do we get what we deserve?
And enamored with your taste,
the sheen of sweet nectar
still fresh upon my lips,
our locked eyes
oblivious to all time,
our animation suspended.
Does it become too much to take?
The animal tension in this still air,
the moon gleaming across exposed skin
that now silently begs to be sated,
I can hear this forgotten incantation
Like a puzzle that needs to be
touched by intuitive hands,
from a tentative touch
to a frenzied exploration,
every gap caressed and filled,
answering the one question
our bodies have endlessly asked….
Do we get what we deserve?
And I’ll whisper it in your ear
almost like the rough draft of a poem,
when the sheen of your soul
is still fresh upon my lips,
before words begin to lose
what this really means to me.
Does it become too much to know now?
This invasive sensitive column of flesh
immediately welcome upon contact,
soothing where you need to be breached,
where we both will become branded.
Your hands cup my face like a seed
in the dark soon to burst into bloom
and may forever bind me to you,
and with your lips upon mine,
I can hear an incantation saying
We get what we deserve.
