Monday, December 12, 2011

I couldn't remember, but it was a sunny day.

I can feel your heart pounding,

sending vibrations
to your thin sternum,
against my chest,
between this two handful of breasts.
Can you hear my breath

In perfect rhythm with the ticking of the clock
on your dirtied walls?
Tick, tock,
tick, tock.
These yellowed nails dig deep in your back
like a desperate soul.

Bone against bone,
You're bruising my thighs.
Breathing in,
breathing out.
Visions blur.

But it's just the flesh that speaks:
body salt against the warm air
of your light deprived room.
It's a Friday afternoon
when our breaths have ran out
and the clock went tick, tock,
tick, tock
tick, tock


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