amniotic hymn


sing to me,
sing to me,
i’m so weary but that doesn’t mean
i’m not listening.

you’re beautiful
because i want you.
you’re
so
unbelievably
fucking
gorgeous.

or at least i’m naive enough to believe it.

sure, there have been times where
i’ve said that to someone else.
and it’s always been quite like this.
but if your mouth touched me i swear
i wouldn’t last another second.

the nerve centers in my skin
still tingle with anticipation, because
the body unknowingly will regard you
as merely another chance to procreate
with the opposite sex,
in hopes of sustaining its own species
for yet another generation.

and even though the mind will most certainly
look more fondly upon you;

::your wavy hair, your gentle gaze::

the body’s screaming that you’ll make such
a good accomplice
in its underlying scheme;

evolutionary mayhem, plain and chaste...

while the mind is whispering
of the emotional
fulfillment i’m to receive
by spiritually bonding with another so lovely
and fair.

but for now, just pressing my head into your bosom
is enough.

in light of
the darkness cascading across
this dimly lit tavern,
the moon hanging silent
in the wake of a soft rain, glowing down
on we two as i
clutch
the hands of a waning mischief,
the ones that caressed me so
tenderly
for the longest time,
still with a tendency
to stroke the occasional cheek,

i can smell the wood in your clothes
not to mention
the cigarette smoke that lingers
somewhere in between
your past and my future.

and while you
summon me from the rim of the horizon,
sing of your wild indulgences and
your purest desires,
because i am weary, and the sound of your
sweet voice won’t tempt me any less than
the beautiful dream you’ve been,
in wanting,
	and delving,
and creating yet another clone
of you.




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