words are a cage
i want to prowl now
pad around feeling
muscle and bone
and what blood is for
when you nuzzle close
everything i think to say
makes me growl now
locked deep in my throat
as if releasing that sound
would be confessing
i want to bite you
and how our straining skins
will make us howl now
if we slip our leashes
measure me by the breath
the lift and fall of your head on my chest
seconds bounded by skin drying
and the shape of us fallen in darkness
weigh each word whispered
as we return to language
place the sense cautiously
to distribute the mass
mark the distance travelled
by the ache we hunted
as if it was our salvation
and, found, soothed, healed a while
count it first and last
and one and only
something about you
makes my brain kick me in my heart
that gaping hungry jolt
like a sinkhole in my chest
into which i plummet
searching for your hands lips eyes
the skin that barely contains your heat
that heat that barely conceals your dark
a dark as bright as baby laughter
or the bite of the sea-seasoned wind
how you move, tired, too tired
and my brain kicks my heart in the balls
and my heart kicks my brain kicks my body
towards you
A drunken couple stumbles up to their doorstep. She's giggling and he's laughing while she tries to find her keys. He begins fumbling with the back of her dress. She unlocks and opens the door still giggling. They fall through the doorway, hitting the floor. Her dress and his pants get tossed to the side and they go at it. A light turns on and their daughter says, "you're both 60 years old, stop acting like teenagers." #mastoprompt#fumble
nor the names
of those who wrested it
from the ground
or cut it
or drove it
or shipped it
or laid it
i don't know
who was touched
by hands
with stone dust
still trapped under chipped nails
nor how that dust
clogged lungs
for the enrichment
of soft-handed men
i don't know
how much of the rain
currently puddling
on the grey
has ever fallen
on that distant quarry