sea moves

Your tongue is my ocean

when it barrels between petal’d lips—

cascades of flesh,

warmth sharpening the soft edge of sensuousness.


Such a kiss

boring rivulets

smiling with our hands

an hourglass’s sand knows our destination not


squeeze moments into the muscle lining your thighs.

Wanton, I,

in your grasping ferocity upon my neck

momentum’s inject.


my delicate paroxysms you count by inhalation.

god, all I want is your sex.

But your tongue is my ocean;

 it echoes through these screens—

thought taunting daydreams

into philosophy.

Where are we sanctioned?

Your. Every. Word.

is always annihilation.

Wistful, I absconded within your vision


whisper’d tendrils of reality unstitch from superstition.

tidal wave technology

tastes like you telling me: “Don’t you dare lick your lips.”

So I did.

Now, again, your colors shade timeline’s finest.

Identity-markers careen type into polemic,

thus for you I, bidden, rhyme.

Your tongue was my ocean


Verbal bruises riding up my breasts…

Memory’s pen whetting malcontent

Me—sucking the life from your fingertips

lashes crashing against your chest.

You—running truth deep into my hips.

We are being the asunder, roaring, immersed, together:


gods of atypical lust. 


4 thoughts on “sea moves

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