Poem – “Leaving Numbers on the Clock” – Erotica – 10/15/2020

Blue whispers,
Like toying with the sea
Underneath
Where quilts hold your delicacy.
For your flesh
Is a pleasure for my mercy
Upon twice, undressing you,
Finding four limbs,
Pinned together.
Like the anatomy of protrusion
That appears to come from Hell’s own shelter,
Came from areas we can smother.

Flickers,
A torch that reveals common flame,
For extraordinary
Common knowledge.
We leave empires bankrupt,
As we move to make
Teeming purities, corrupt.
We fall on each other’s sword
Dancing in the other’s ear,
Playing with the other’s fear.

Can I hold your face in ripeness?
Our holiness,
Our eroticism,
The dynasties upon our arms,
Procreated
By the milk of heavy breasts.
Beating hearts
Start the flame,
Measuring guilt
With ceasing shame.

I build on your body
The boats that do not sink.

I sink through your flesh,
Faint whispers that never float.

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