Lust Song Syndrome
At ease of ill on bed where thoughts I lay
over cigar butts & a bottle of gin approaching
to its eight. c/o you, a wry malice
once most I herd under the influence of curiosity, intimacy
more than half-intended, if by if, further a notice,
if at all. Let me tell you further:
within my mind painted of green is panting
alongside its walls are sweating. More of a further,
between gasps & heavy breaths I move
from one to the other. Still,
so little you know how I’d run into you
in the most fluid of further:
humidity settles, as I fancy with wonder to imagine
you with me alone hoarding
warmth between our thighs, all save for benediction. Truth to tell,
between mine is tightening, for all that. Hence,
we kiss, then we coo. To err us,
feeding long on each other’s tongue adorned with scents
of sin ending up like fools to think it clever to thrust,
sequent to taste, the in-betweens as against the other:
a piece of heaven that reeks of me & you. Our bodies also,
waists, chests, & torsos made slippery by sweat,
by love. Like so, too, I long for our thighs to cross
like of my fingers by here.
Soon, there: somewhere,
(hereby, fingers crossed) not elsewhere.
Copyright © Cayetano Young | Year Posted 2009
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