in added friction, like open mouths surfacing for air under the influence of chlorine induced stupors,
the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, like soldiers in neat rows, awaiting nightfall and cursing the dawn..
It is only a question of time before he consumes me at this unearthly hour
is predatory but he does not know it, I am a helpless fawn in his clutches, but I love it none the less.
2. There is a darker place than being in a shellscrape, somewhere filthier than a latrine. I must always remember he who lights paper lanterns along the trenches of my heart, setting himself ablaze when they are fanned to forest fires.
who hacks at the dense foliage surrounding my stubborn vessel, thick from years of love without warmth other than from a throbbing muscle in hand.
With a jackknife of genteel grunts and tender ministrations, leaves, they fall at his feet, like the articles of clothing that get caught in our toes.
Leaves, they fall to signify change, but now also to testify to how some things will never.
I must remember how colliding into him, his desire a matador crashing against the surface of my sternum, birthed enough light to phase out this temporary darkness.
I must remember the badge he wears proud, he pins it right above his heart,
I'll always be waiting, embroidered and emboldened.