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Image for the poem am i to you..

am i to you..

           
               
do not ask where my home is:                
my body’s a sharded shelter',                
splay’d over your anatomy                
of                
being.                
               
between us a beam of clarity is                
crushed then ignited',                
together we flail                
               
youre where i never expected to                  
be  touched: no elegy, ode,                
rain, or beam of light has ever                
reach'...no other otherness                
               
and you tremble underneath,                
to this sensual weight ...  
to this integral truth of (i) ...      
                       
do not ask about my identity:                
youre such a blistered soul of                
man, one that hones my needs               
and wants til they flow down like                
a wellspring                
               
i prefer to  exhibit                
               
as you look at all of me and                
drag  your  receptacle  tongue                
across my skin for its scent;                  
               
        how do i taste and smell?                
like a emphasised shade                
of “yours in parenthesis” ?                
               
your engorged cock is my        
flavored lotus root -               
surpasses the words on my lips                
to be concealed                
filling my sub rosa throat                
finding there's a gradual brio of                
compassion moaning in echos,                
for you                
               
do not ask my name:                
'your voice opens me up like                
a desperate sign of life; i clasp                
on with wild fingers                
               
you paint                
your                
suffering for love                
against my walls,...                
in the root system quadrants' of                
my                
mind...  
in the thirteenth province of my  
pneuma   ...
            
               
each layer keeps adding up, the                
waves gather in my spine,                
biting salt , becoming altered as                
a thin film  of  wax'                
               
nails in chest                
tilting while perched on top          
my  cunt  and heart constricts          
then dilate in pulses        
both effortlessly spilling forth                 
               
ask anything of me                
supine'd -                
my dress lingers mid-waist, reversed                
inside/out  and ripped                
               
i will masque nothing
               
               
               
               
               
               
               
               
                
                
All splattered in the antediluvian splashes of worlds.                
Like the very first word, enormous, eternal,                
The word, bathed.-A.U
               
               
               
 
HowlingWhelms
Written by HowlingWhelms (Noire)
Published | Edited 24th Mar 2019
Author's Note
_.. .]
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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