Words have no weight in the book of the unwritten.
It's looks leaded with the unsaid
that hold you in a place
of closed blinds and shadows
sanitized for public consumption.
But I craved those shadows; the sweat,
cat quick kisses, and electric longing deep
as gravity and gods.
I didn't plunder the why of my want;
I was want
and moon pale against the night.
Velvet roped by music
creeping into the street
from the other side of everything.
Inside, hotter heart blood pulsed
and muscled rhythms
loosely, like this
like this. He guided me against
the bold black of his body;
into ebony arcs of his skin,
and I kissed
He tasted just like a man.
I'm inflicting you with a rough draft. I'm not sure that this gets across what I'm trying to say. I'm very interested to know what you think.
For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads