At My Windowsill

At My Windowsill

You alluded to touch; I fell hands first
Scorched by venomous lashes of flickering tongues
Pistons pump and thrust as minds intermingle like brackish waters
Fluids spewed upon body’s shore

Contorted together; interlaced strings
Feelings abandoned on the road piled high with debris
Again, familiar fragrances engrained on my skin
Deep in the labyrinth of my mind are tiny freckles of you

When the night was still young
Groggily shaken awake; trembling
Frozen to time’s winged chariot near
The concrete wet beyond winter’s thaw
Crispness removes emptiness of breast’s breath

Echoed shapes against a flickering light
Slender, slightly tanned turn of an arm
Golden streaks neatly arranged in place
Quick obsessions pass prolific profiles of you face

Do you know the pout of your lips?
The gentle swing of your hips
Scrutinizing freckles on nose’s tip
With deep breaths I sip