I fell asleep looking at a photograph of your face – your eyes like a slideshow of our lives. Together, we are not awkward like chalk against steel – the squeal of metal.
Rather, our bodies are turn tables scratching at the grooves in each other’s skin – a symphony played by an orchestra of pleasure. The strings pulling our hips; percussion making us swing.
Our tongues as two crossed fingers – folded around each other like tubes of brass bearing the weight against our lips. This beauty-full bassline belts a love that no one will understand.
There is air pushed from our lungs slowing down the clock; seconds match the rhythm of our breathing. Your breath: a fingerprint on the atmosphere conducting ructions when our bodies shake in perfect time sparked by what happens if I did this longer-harder-faster.
And there’s a fine line when it comes…
to borrowing time, so we lock thighs and grind. You sigh as my hand that knows the curvature of your spine guides the glorious climb till we are two tightrope walkers taunting the fragility of notes.
We are high up, but deep inside. Think and jump. Thrilled and terrified.
If you look for us, don’t look up for you will find us below, buried between each other like sheets. This is where my dreams sleep. And I will wake to you like waves stumble effortlessly upon the shore. We will sway day after day – an endless ocean waiting to sink its teeth into the Sahara.