And then he sought to part those lips, away from the rest,
I felt something tighten, something loosen, inside my chest—
barcodes in shape of breath on my wrists, as symbol sweet,
urging me journey through darkness of his pupils, his heat,
is it just me, or is there something about him that excites?
How glorious it is to let go of inhibitions, to jump off heights.
So soft, so smooth, so sensual the words that follow,
lifting me as the wind does to leaf, to wings of a swallow,
murmuring against my skin, lips are caramel, barbed wire;
fanning this poet’s decadent desire,
as attachment gives us rosier than rosy vision, this is a sign,
similar to when the clouds fade, when the planets align,
his lips I shall paint with lilac hues, with poetry deep—
while the world’s drowned in slumber, in barrel, in heap.
Crystallizing in memory, his canvass, his touch, wanting skin,
they say it’s a sin when you feel too much, too intensely within—
he fills me, bidding lethargy leave and escape into the void,
tell me, what song will the blood sing with feelings employed?
And when lips kiss the end of fresh cigarette, lighting the sky,
I utter a low and ceaseless sigh,
silence, this silence rings louder waiting to be broken,
I wonder as to what I can possibly offer in exchange as token;
lips are sugar, lips are cayenne pepper, in the middle of night—
and then the stars arrived as though to offer second light,
the pillow on the bed, the hidden notes, the perfume, state
gold-browns, crisp autumn season will eventually dominate—
so subtle, so seductive, so suave his charm beguiles;
I know not whether to shy away or smile.
Lips are wishes, lips are storm, pressed against my forehead,
outside the berries have turned plump and red—
let our bodies be entangled, souls interlocked, let me taste;
can’t bear for another moment to go to waste,
on smooth skin of inner thigh come write adoration wild;
while poems in praise of your being are stoutly complied—
how freeing it is to occupy a space in corner of male’s mind,
I am forever in search of ways that Lord almighty has designed,
lips are artistry, urging me be muse, be one and only;
I was once lost, believing myself to be lonely,
beckon quietly, as the wind does; the scarlet of his cheeks
begs write a love letter to melt into, through days and weeks—
his eyes gorgeous utter a mouthful too hard to digest;
and then he sought to part those lips, away from the rest.
Photo credits: “Taking notes at vintage writing cabinet,” by Furkan fdemir
I am behind the bar tonight once again, where I invite others to try
their hand at writing Panegyric Poetry. Come join us! 💝
Posted for Poetics – Exploring the genre of Panegyric Poetry @dVerse Poets Pub