Tag Archives: sex

This Bestiary of Us

Published / by Gabriel / Leave a Comment

We nest in waystations,
half split between lairs,
two larva devouring each other
to become a single beast.

We meet.
We crash desperate —
no hestitation before we
skin ourselves and unhinge.

This is the monster of us:
a spider of limbs, a knot of pythons.
We have too many teeth
and too many nails.
We are Chimera.

We predator and prey ourselves.
We crush sex until it pops,
a bubble red and full
of throbbing. We writhe wet
into each other. Too hot,
too steam, too slick —
we are half circles fulling,
fused at crown of mouth
and tangled genital root.
We suck air and thrust
swallows of fire down
into our needy belly.

We have a beard full of blood.
We have a throat raw,
a vessel wrestled empty.
One mouth gasps, the other growls,
we hoard our clenches; we worry
holes into our shoulders to stash them in.
We slip free, we scrabble back.
One mouth wails, the other shushes.

Wash

Published / by Gabriel / Leave a Comment

After dancing all night,
you left open the bathroom door.
I can see parts of you in the mirror.
I watch you unpaint yourself.

You stand at the sink, unbloused,
you remove the tiny baubles
of your earrings, you remove your pearls.
You take the pins from your hair,
you let it tumble down —
I wish I were the shadow of your hair,
full of the fatal scent of you,
guilty of tangles, guilty of a murmur
on your shoulder, your neck.

You wet a cloth.
You wipe away blush and eyeliner,
cleanse foundation and contour,
dark mascara,
the sinful deep rose of your lips.
You confess your skin,
you whisper the truth of your skin.

You step out of your heels,
tired ball and arch of your feet
uncradled and returned to cool tile.
You tiptoe from view

into the hot susurrus of the shower,
and leave me only with imagination:
I imagine you, enveloped in downpour,
in suds, in scents of sandalwood and wild orange.
I imagine you sponge away sweat and perfume,
soap and heat tumbling out of the dark
confession of your hair.

I imagine all places you wash:
hungry rib and live collarbone,
kindled breast and hot belly,
thigh, fevered vulva,
imagine my hands as washrags,
my hands as steam.

I cannot wait for you to finish.
I lie and listen to you bathe,
I am tense with desire for you.

Bring your body back to me,
its blemishes uncovered,
its shape adored sans adornment,
let me untowel you,
let me lick the cleanliness from your spine.

I want you without decoration,
without pigments or jewels,
only with the red flowers
only with the purple gems
my mouth will paint on your skin.

Susurration and Earthquake

Published / by Gabriel / Leave a Comment

Afterwards, your lips will part and
mouth, “Wow.”

Riven,
held open against flustered
and flushed sheets, drawn off like
rind from the bright fruit heart,
tart sweat lingering on two tongues kissed by
escaping breath.

Worry-heart, rabbit-heart,
this is the still order of passion’s pause:
Recover before I kiss you again,
before I draw another poem
into the flesh of your shoulders; a poem
rouged, pattern-rhymed with every sound
expelled from your open
shiver-shudder lips, every sound a
susurration and earthquake.

Come, love. Again.