by Elizabeth Vongvisith
(12/12/07)

This is for the fire in you, my beloved,
for the rage and bliss, for the savage pleasure
you show when you touch me, fingertips sinking
deep into my flesh, leaving marks behind
that you cover with kisses and sweet licks
from that sly, silver-plated tongue.
This is for all the heart's pangs, those whirling,
mad-eyed things that bite gently all over
its meaty, vein-covered surface whenever
you cling to me and moan I can't wait,
thrusting deep heat into the juncture.

I will open myself to you, like a lock going
click to the only key it was created for.
I will wind myself around your spindle
in everlasting loops, becoming soft wool fingered
and spun out into a narrower, stronger form --
your hands taking me out of shapelessness
and making me useful, coloring me bright
with the dyes of your blood and tears,
the sweat beading your throat and the smear
of hot, bright come left behind afterwards.

I will kiss you until I drive you breathless
with lust and delight, your body molding hard
and flexible against me, your bright hair spilling
like a volcano's magma down dark slopes,
coiling around my wrists and pinning me in place
against the walls of a shadowless room.
Take me down into the pools of amber sunlight
wrapped around our feet, and let me linger
over your tumescent flesh, let me travel you
like a caravan of the body, up and down and over
and under, riding you senseless into the twilight.

This is for that moment of awakening, just before
the rush of passion screams to its peak, the twist
and the thrust of the knife, love's bittersweet taint
rushing us both with sparks, flint and tinder made
of our souls, catching and consuming everything
from memory to imagination, your voice murmuring
mine, mine, and your scars pressed close to me,
knowing that I will reach for them over and over
like the dawn reaching for the edge of the sky.

Our permanent collection of erotic poetry