I bury myself in you, fornicating the freckles in your face and lapping up your milk. You come alive in me as you make love to the pearls in my teeth and the dents in my arms.
Your ginger compels me as my black compels you. I feel inside your dress and you in my jeans.
We close our eyes because the sight of each other’s souls would blind us.
We grind hard and naked. We swallow tongues. We want to belong: and making love means making our mark.
We wake up: we stop.
I look in your gorgeous green eyes; I see a sea that I want to swim deep in. You look in my burning brown; you see a sea too.
Your skin is a pillaged village. My skin is a field burnt down to the ground.
We are moons marked by each other’s flags. We have claimed each other in the name of lust instead of love.
To say we are ashamed is not enough. We loved to touch without touching love. We thought we were lovely, so we thought we’d touch lovely. We see each other seas, seeing nothing but ugly. I love you, you lust me: connection discordant.
Love: we want make it but can’t fake it in order to feel important.
Imported importance is fraudulent.
Acknowledged and unlocked is all that we’ve got.