He makes me forget that I have skin.
With a stare that pushes its way past my fixed lips, burrows down my throat and leaves secrets between my vocal folds lulling all sonorousness.
If it keeps me from him, all of him, then I don’t want it anyways.
Foolish enough to be the Psalm that failed at trying to hide from the same bewitching grin that commands my senses into acquiescence and makes it possible to sneeze in my sleep.
With so many walls, he still gets through and waltzes with my vulnerable.
Behind my palm rests every yearn too much for my system and with it the same thing that happened on a cold winter’s night and I hope he likes it.
I want to be enough.
Blowing white hot kisses only his eyelashes could extinguish often troubles him. I can’t individualize it as pain or something but I don’t know why that matters.
He and I could exert ourselves for hours on ways to successfully claw into each other and touch down on worlds we never even dare to imagine real.
He and I would come up for just enough air and the checking of each others pulses, be peaking on the verge of a breakthrough…only to fail,
and fail spectacularly,
in perfect harmony we would fail, convulsing for the chance to latherrinserepeat.
As our pores gave way to a stream of abundance and to dust we returned, I’d love him until, loving until, was no longer an option.
-erica jeudy ©