The Conversation

Imagine darkness, vast earth and raining.
You and I are sitting close together
Reading things we wish that we had written.
Finally, the fire has stopped complaining,

But now I am intrigued by what you read.
The air is warm and heavy and the light
Softens every angle into roundness.
You close your eyes; I kneel beside your head.

Somehow you know my hands will press you;
They stroke and tug your hair, but don’t intrude.
You feel me breathing close behind your ear.
Quietly, you urge me to undress you.

Cruelly my hands display defiance;
They hold your wrists down as I start to kiss
And firmly bite your neck. My mouth is fast.
Pain and pleasure melt into compliance.

You quickly try to move your hands, but find
They’re pinned above your head, beneath my knees.
You play struggle. Lips press at your nipple.
Beneath this new attention your lost mind

Battles to reformulate resistance.
Arching up you tease me by reaction,
Fingernails of newly free hands dig me,
Pull my head, insisting on insistence.

Rolling now, you strengthen your assertion.
You are in command as my strength leaves.
You pull my hair, playing domination,
Bite me sharply, strengthening conversion.

I feel your breath burning with intention,
There can be no element of restraint.
This is the pure distillate of feeling,
Each the other’s focus of attention.

I’m responsive to your every gesture.
Every movement, every breath or tremor
Of your lips, leads to my soft reaction.
Granting wishes by our change of posture,

Our clothes and hesitations are oppressed.
Fingers, whose intent is stimulation,
Prove there is no contact we can’t share.
Lips touch lips. There’s nothing they suggest

That quick tongues can’t coax into expression.
Our conversation ends. We understand.
Your molten body’s pouring through my hand.
Now imagine this were no digression.

Join the conversation with obsession.