I Know This Man

*This is a bit risque…so…if you aren’t an adult, don’t read it…LOL

I feel myself screaming down low,
my curves curving more, in search of,
in need; my cave waiting,
tugging on the emptiness,
in desperation.

I know this man who is solid,
his limbs aligned, straight and hard,
as a man would be. He has been calling me
with capacity, firm grasped,
swollen purple.

He has come for me before,
it was winter, he turned me into a mermaid
and brought me to a heated spring.
I never hesitated.
That was just once.

There were several times, over several seasons
that he came for me
again, and again.
I know this man who is solid and firm
and I scream for him, my body searches for him,
I belong to him.

My Lord Who I Do Not Know

My Lord,

I know you in language,
not
by your fingertips,
or your tongue,
or your eyes,
or your voice,
or heavy petting,
or lip smacking.

I do not know the scent of your release,
or the heaviness of your desire,
or the longing in your sighs,
or the length of your reach.

I do not know your grip,
your push,
your gasp for a breath,
your touch,
your taste,
your hunger.

My Lord,

I know you in vocabulary,
in depiction.

I know you in daydream
where
I have felt your limit,
where I have forfeited myself
in the aroma
of your pleasure,
where I have met you at the top
of the mountain,
the highest peak,
where we have gasped for air
together,
fingers entwined,
legs braided,
excreting deliquescent
adoration.

My Lord,

I speak in daydream,
lost in lust language
where I know you.