s[m]oothe her

i have seen your smoother parts. i have heard you say “carrier”. i have spilled your drink. i have scenes of the soothing arts you used to cure a barrier between my thing and think replaying in my mind behind the [c]ling of ink—they’re there where we’re their wear and tare, when then and been come kenned to pen, and blend is blurred to end. yet now your yearning, once bold-burning, lessens as you let your lea[r]ning lead you toward a timely tu[r]ning, as if what’s [l]evered might have severed how and vow from now or never. you’ll hear “redden or leaden” said in whispers wet with once-white wines we’ve bled in, and you might say it’s penance fair to pay. but i have seen your smoother parts, my love, and while i like frustration fine as foreplay, it’s not what i’m playing for—and what’s more, i don’t doubt you prey my way.

when you laughed it lioned over me, low and long and lean, you lofting your light to the left and the right like you might only lack a lick of liquid language to leave newlying lovers unalone tonight, and i made up my mind to respond in kind[l|r]ed kind—so i blushed, and while the others around us rushed i spoke slow and steady and hushed of feeling finally ready to write of something other than remorse, and when you asked for a story i gathered all my gift of glory, worked the tattered strands into one cord. spinning sensuous symbols, i was nudging and nimble, and i purred over words i inferred you adored. the apex was a monologue on touch, and getting in it; i saw your eyelids flutter then, and grinned to think i’d win it. my f[r]iction met your maso[s]chism somewhere in the middle, and the riddle of the hour was whether you’d listen to letter or law. you answered it by offering to draw.

so you stretched me out with a gesture, pinned me with a pen and pressure, and in return i wore your color, wore your meter, showed how i knew nothing sweeter than the silent words we spoke astride your bed. i wore on your impatience, wore your demure defenses down until you whispered what i’d hidden in my hunger-humming head. basking in that glow i dared to whisper, “you, i know”, and your eyes were [a]greedy and innocent and needy, and holding that to heart i carried you down into dream.

that’s how it was for me, my dear: delightful and delicious, deep as sleep, vice versa, and verse vicious. so can i, somehow, soothe your suspicion? i know how i’d try, if you’d grant me a little permission . . .

but should you demur and deny me, should you avow you’ll never again try me, and even if you should forget me, don’t you ever dare regret me; i admit and promise you as much. i’ll keep myself quiet, and pretend for you i buy it—but i’ll tease with my farewell: do keep in touch.

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