free of the shackles poem #29

calm love, sliced and catered, 

ripped, sewn:

i am all he tastes when he is alone.

i am his, 

a warm body, 

a shawl, 

a face i kiss

a love supreme/

he dips into my moon

a night scoundrel

a cup holder, 

a noble knight 

i am heaps on his hands

a stockpile he adores/

he is sticks and he is stones,

he never breaks, he is cement

a total sum, of all his past lives

of all his cuts

of all his hurts, 

of all his smiles

I see it when he throws back his divine head of hair

when his mouth, 

wide open, 

the bell in the back of his throat


a thunderous laugh  

he swallows me whole

in one gulp

in one look

one lock of arms, 

of hands

one sip of drink, 

one morsel of food shared, 

a kiss to lock it in, to seal it, to digest.

in the dimly lit,

he enjoys the drip, 

my faucet in his parched

a love I had been practicing for when I felt

the need to open, 








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