My favorite picture of you:
you touch yourself through sheer fabric,
covers peeled back so I can see.
“Free Until They Cut Me Down”
Take me, take me home.
I speak, love, of mountains so great the sky cowers,
I speak of sludged flood-plains breathing their first air in months,
whirlpools that swallow rainbows, pot of gold ‘n all,
that crest and swallow all, knowing nothing has held it but paitence.
Vice, darlin’, vice I have.
i can hear the hiss of your breath as your fingers lightly touch,
surprising even yourself with the power of the sensation.
I’ve got whiskey dreams ‘n blunt rolled reams of the coulds ‘n woulds ‘n damn I wish I coulds
I want you, darlin’, just you,
stainin’ memory like sunset through storm-clouds,
the scent of you as strong as dust in the heat,
the feel of you licking at my fingertips like highway wind at 70.
you bite your lip to calm the moan building,
those same lips I beg to taste.
Darlin’, I have vice, and I want you.
a gift of your pleasure.
