your name has a familiar tasteunder the moth-like hum of a lamppost,learningtobefree
your lips molded around hers like a cast
mending a broken wrist.
i stood motionless and watched
as her figure became shapeless,
conforming to your crevices and
letting your hands glide over it
like sudden rain clouds.
as i choked in the outskirts of your paradise,
i couldn't help but wonder if we, too,
looked this way before sickening ourselves.
as we multiplied in fractions and 2 became 1,
did the crunch of the leaves
beneath our backs realize the magic?
your teeth imprisoning my tongue for never too long,
my fingers shaping themselves to the curve of your neck.
our gentle caress disintegrated
like a thunderstorm to a campfire
to solemn ashes and broken twigs.
i first sensed your absence when i knelt in prayer
and your taste was not on the tip of my tongue. from
then on, i ritualized purging myself of every memory.
2 months later and you are still not ridden from me.
regardless of all this mess, your touch is still the epitome of content.