Stepping into the sweet, foreign
Different bread
Different paneling
Or carpet, or paint
I know the taste of your mouth
And it’s the taste of foreign
Your tongue, the gum
Sickly sweet oil muscle
It’s your breath
Your sweat, skin, hair
And then, why am I writing about you

- - - 

The instant heat
The play, and repeat
I bite, you bite, we turn
I touch you and I think about myself
You touch me and I feign confidence
My fear but then the warmth
The smooth and elastic cool skin 
A stomach, the rib cage
A little fat around the nipple, I tease
I hold your wrists down on the bed over you 
I move to your thighs and kiss the space between the joints
We constantly kiss
I stop to say, and I look at you
Breathing in a moment
I kiss you, words never said

View thinkofitasthrift's Full Portfolio