Poetry & Art of the Intelligently Erotic
Issue 1
your fingers bear weight, now, when we entwine our hands
with a ferociousness, your clasp is firm, hard,
making certain i won't let go (and i won't, i squeeze your fingers back).
my lips begin to understand texture, feeling
and your skin is in every spectrum
ranges and patterns of light i can see still when blind
(your hand gripping my shoulder, telling me not to leave you,
spite duty, it says, forget others calling):
— your fingers cold and thin and individual
against my coaxing, reassuring mouth
(your face unrestrained, smiling, rebellious for that moment);
— your cheek impossibly soft and
pliant under my quick kiss
(your image in moods and non-moods, restraint, disbelieving awe,
the tiny, shaped-petal mouth willing);
— your lips forming some sort of unity with mine,
without moving, without diving, just holding,
fitting into shape
the strangesoftsensitivity that heightens,
leaving a shadow when you've pulled away, so i
can still feel your mouth
touching mine.
it is an awakening, not of desire, not of stomach-tightening
denial,
not even of innocence lost,
ideologies broken.
(all has happened before). an awakening
of awareness and slowness and tiny, gentle touches, nerves
on nerves, fingertips on the slope of your neck, pulse-points
touching and fluttering like our glances.
