last truly moved by something,
when the earth shook beneath your feet,
when you were nothing more
than a world helplessly trembling.
Your sky burning pure fury and need,
awakened by lips that matched
a heart’s endless race set in motion
that words cannot catch up to.
When was the last time?
The taste is still there
every time our lips press together.
The initial jealous flare,
yours or my own,
that coiled on and on
and gripped your core.
The most gentle breach,
the sweetest blush
and advantageous whisper
don’t hide fangs for very long.
The flesh and nectar
are devoured either way.
I want to know when you last
felt as moved as you were then,
the last time the earth shook
and split beneath your feet,
only to discover the world stayed still.
It was nothing more than a touch,
hesitant against your cheek,
every muscle like tense cords that
were going through the motions
while aching to finally be untied.
When was the last time?
The taste is still there,
an echo of lips pressed together.
My hands may have not been slender
enough to move with such grace,
but even one fingertip cared
more than you fucking knew.
The initial comparison,
mine to a familiar angel,
only shreds a fragile core
I can know nothing of.
The most gentle breach cloaks
desire’s maddening vast expanse,
and I think something broke in me then,
stilled whenever your heart raced
to some delicate foreign rhythm.
I want to know when you were
last moved by anything
that emerged from me,
when I was nothing more
than a spell awakening us
A fire that torched your sky
but never created ruins,
no furious ash raining on each tract,
no wolves in seraphic disguises
lapping at the nectar.
When was the last time?
The taste is still there
every time our hearts press together.
I know it was the sweetest,
that skin and eloquence,
the initially shy blushes,
so gently tie and pull you.
The initial jealous flare,
the question of what one has
that I will know nothing of
is something I’m very familiar with.
And I still want to know
how I can move you
to the very core.
