[late draft, currently revising]
and he was so sweet,
like apples ripened in the autumn sun,
made to blush from the sugar of my attention
he’d prayed to God for inspiration
in the form of an ample thigh
and heart-shaped mind
*
*
quivering too much
at almost no provocation,
he thrashed and whimpered
when set upon by just the slip of my breath
into his dark forever more
and together we danced silhouettes
into the soft foam of a longing,
an understanding between lovers,
what the muses intended
behind the backs of their masters.
*
secrets encircled our wish to escape the confines of sum and substance,
we were here and fate had no meaning
outside a desire to be understood.
how often had we already known the sorrow
of an unfulfilled drama,
without wine besot lips
coaxing the best of ourselves into verse,
or, impeded ambition:
swelling, blistering hysteria
across the cusp of a haunted ache –
all starburst roses and wanderlust
along the driftscape of some futility –
no, not us
sometimes an incidental love is the surest kind.
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