One such devoured moment

egon-schiele-two-girls-lovers-1

I am not overt

even when good green absinthe is poured over

a sugar cube

the silver tongs holding

sweetness just.

I am not overt

will not tell you of my sinning urge to

strip you dear of clothing and chew

the very mercy from you

beneath my aching layers

where frill and fancy and the soft cotton of

longing

lie on top of one another, spilling over

in quiet crescendo.

I’m not overt

as you bend toward sunlight, creating a halo of

light beneath your breasts and I see

the coffee cream and the glory of

all that I have ever desired

drawn in chafed clamor.

With reddened mouths, we

empty our aching into indigo rivers

for to release them

and become that thing of wanting

does not possess a language sufficient.

If it did, I fear I would

spend decades

describing what it feels like

to surrender to you,  feel the rounding

of dark silver, begin to etch my spine

its crescent capture, a moon within my

shuddering limbs

as we cascade over the other

swimming like night swans

oblivious to the beckon of dawn.

I fear, should it be translated

my throaty cries will be colors without

meaning, a lake of pleasure, where finding you

I sink beneath, without need of air

your fingers playing me

like a waterlogged flute

for the merfolk who surely have

no rest in their abandon.

It is my greatest secret

that you own my heart and I

supplicate myself in yours, with the

rosy thirst of a child seeking measure

I find myself in the echo of you

your fingers deep in me, striking urgent note

sonorous and defeating sound

together we listen to the rabbit stitch beat

of our hearts, pressed in uttered motion

as you enter my blood and I

absorb a little more of you

as suppliant as a beggar for your

nectar.

I fear should you ever not exist

the part of me wedded to you in between

the trees and through time would

perish like starlight.

For only you bid this girl

alive like ancient wood-maker, setting finish

the sound of us, abseiling into the other, our

wordless joy, limbs bound, skin hot to touch

this thimble of love vibrating its frequency

out to lighthouses and beyond.

Lost from you, I would be no more than

a figment of what was, tortured by

recollection, denied the warm sustaining of

your cherished arms about me.

I am not overt

yet if I were, I should

spill like a warm wax, the seal of you

pressing permanently into my epidermis

a shape of longing and need

where mouths are elongated into song

throats flung back in instrument.

You inhabit me, as I reach for you

cresting waves, growing barefoot dance

a chant in time with quickening pulse

your eyes black in half moon shade

swish of violent love, simmering damp and lush

I release to the witching smell of your

skin surrounding us like points of

flame in absolute blackness

rising up, exhausting their burn

falling down to rise again ever

defiant and pleasured

by the anonymity of their

evoking spectacle

as if I were alive

only in that moment

when you struck me

bright with sulphur

the sabotage of my sanity

given willingly for one

such devoured

moment.

40 thoughts on “One such devoured moment

  1. This lush poem is bittersweet indulgence when the plague continues to limit me and the object of my desire to stolen, outdoor, socially distant hours once every month or so. Talk about overt and its opposite; with our masks on, she and I hug for fifteen minutes and it’s like standing in a waterfall of words just like these… Sigh.

  2. This. Is. Poetry. I’m swooning. Poetry to fall in love with. Oh my heart! My heart… and other places within me. I am in absolute love. No doubt about that. 💕 You are truly wonderful, Desert Poetess.

  3. Now if the desert could reach the tundra and you weren’t so far away …. I’d give you a giant hug for being so supportive. Words do not express my appreciation for you my friend. You cheer me on. As I hope to always do to you. ❤️

  4. I suppose in the end, only air and water separate us… and what are THEY in the whole scheme of things? Mere means of movement and breath. The birth of life and love. As such, I accept your virtual hugs and send many right back to you. 😌💕

  5. OMG to experience that rush of love and passion in your writing is amazing. If I were in your presence, I believe I would faint from it! In a good way, that is! ❤ Absolutely wonderful, Candice!

  6. Dearest Sun, thank you my friend. I admire your poetry so much as you know, that if you like anything of mine, I feel I must have done something very right. You are on an entirely different level to most writers here. I mean that as a really positive thing and a compliment that is born of truth. It must be TERRIBLY difficult for you sweetheart but I do so hope this will change and you will be able to be with them much, much longer.

  7. THERE YOU ARE! How are you? I miss you. I am sending you love. Did you hear about SMITTEN winning the finalist award? If you send me your physical addy I can send you a sticker with the award on to put with your copy of SMITTEN. Anyway … it’s so good to hear from you I would love an email to hear more about how you are doing. In case it went missing (hint hint!) my email is candicelouisa@rocketmail.com – do write if you have a chance xxx sending you lots of love and thank you so much I was happy with this one

  8. Thanks darlin 😊🌈❤️
    I will email indeed
    Massive congrats on winning an award: SO DESERVED 🙏🏼
    Yes, been a bit absent here- have had a terrible ongoing draining break up… I’ll email xxx

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