From Your Mouth to Mine

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There are alleyways that take me to knowing, brown eyes. There are moments when two sets of fingers touch in secret that lead to legs that pull me in and a mouth that spits me out. In a doorway, you spin. From the shadows, you emerge like a cat ready to scratch my skin as the sun goes down on yet another drowning town. In your navel, I drip. Against your stomach, I rub my cock while telling you the visions in my head that just won’t quit. There have been others, and yet as much as I try to resist you, you keep coming around. You keep messing with my stuff and yet because it’s you it feels like bliss when with anyone else it would be shit. There are parks where our ghosts dance at dawn. There are so many pathways and freeways where your image still lingers as the scent of your hair floats from a taxi and rests upon the tip of my nose. As the hours tick away and these words move from thought to paper, you get the better of me and paint yourself upon the landscape. Your body- it smothers row after row of buildings and waterlogged fields like a fog. It gets into my lungs until I choke like you choke when we do our thing and you demand that we go as close to the edge as possible. It’s more than sex, and it’s more than love. It’s in our bones. It’s in the way we touch as you press yourself against me in the cemetery we walk through pretending we’re strangers. You with those eyes, and me with my teeth that bite and bite. You with that smile, and you with those lips that glisten against mine tasting of devilry and seduction and just about anything you desire.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com

19 replies »

  1. Do you ever write anything shitty? (Hint: no.) These little vignettes are packed with meaning and metaphor, allegory and allusion, corollary and cock… To do what you do, I’d have to go back in time 25 years and try to take fewer drugs, so I could remember what the fuck I did.

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