Gasping at Words

Writing eludes me lately.
Words lick my earlobes as they whisper wishes to me,
wishes I cannot pen
out of fear?
out of right and wrong?
because of you?

Words bait me into happenstance circumstances
of awkward glances and tongues almost dancing
as lips skirt around the obvious.
Words see me bold, brave and abashedly stupid
when they come out in grunts and broken pants.

Poetry begs me to return between the sheets
and I can only remember when the nights weren’t so cold
and I still ached to be held by you.
Now with frost bite on my lips I sit distanced,
unable to stroke the surface as wickedly as I used to with pen snug between fingers adept.

It’s terrible,
having all these words behind my lips
aching to come out
even though they will make no difference…

I scream silently and rip pages that haven’t been written yet,
tense with the whispers, the breaths tickling my neck
the words of things said and promises of not yet’s.

“Maybe life should be about more than just surviving”
I heard this once and I hope it whistles true
for I am clambering down from the sky,
hurtling head first to the ground
the unknown
difference, and you.

I could list a hundred reasons to ship you and I,
my writing always heading the list like a precursor to the artist’s soul.
I could tell you were my one true pairing as sure as I am that one day I will die,
but it never matters, and really it shouldn’t,

I mean, you only helped me once and even then I was never truly sure
that claiming you as mine was sensible.
I’ve seen you open yourself for so many, even right before my own four eyes
and it shocks me every time.
How others work their mouth and tongues and you just sing,
serenading, screaming, shouting, whispering,
stopping breaths, heaving chests, clicking tongues and butterflies.

I felt them,
the first time I used you like others did.
How my mouth caressed, kissed and licked,
like I would topple over with the sheer joy of it.
How I felt weak in knees, sweaty palms and the butterflies building,
as if they were trying to escape through my mouth the more I ached for you.

I remember the first time.
Never thought I would enjoy being on the receiving end of voyeurism,
the gasps that came, the cat-calls and whistles that flew right by me;
how I clenched my fist over and over in the dark of a single spotlight
as I spat words on a stage
building to my release
being used by words and throwing them right back out,
coming down from my high. body shivering. fingers snapping.
releasing a breathe I never knew I held.

Photo Credit: Sakura5192 – DeviantArt

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