I give you bones wrapped in blushes;
Trembling in maroon
And hypnotised by the plughole lines
Leading me into your fingertips.
The air is photograph still.
You hold my hips and watch my body
Turn to a gaunt, shivering bruise
Beneath you – slowly,
You lower yourself,
Down from above.
Compressing plural into singular;
Our flesh arranging as tightly as muscle
While I trace blueprint shadows in the dark.
Your sighs roll away my eyes
And hide them in the back of my head,
Until I am little more than sweat
Layered with blindness.
But I can still shape you like hot clay.
My thumb presses the hollow of your
Temple, summoning gasps
From deep until they push up,
Against the underside of your skin
Exposing you. I realise,
Here, I can hold you as mine.
My pale devotion held close.
And I don’t want to let go.
I feel how we are:
Panting and breathless,
Choking on the recycled white of the other,
And the rhythm of us shakes the sky.