[Scribbles] A Mode of Desire + The Moon and the Sea
Desire
is the promise of denial,
a curl of satisfaction,
and confidence
in selfishness.
Run hands warm
with oil and skin
against the set of bones
and solid flesh,
the touch of greed.
Hands run smooth
long after tiring
of turning weight into sighs
and even breaths,
art in force.
Lay next to me,
heavy and still,
the heat of blood in me
and effort in you,
warm and languid.
The Moon and the Sea
You move the moon for me,
your movements graceful
as its waxing and waning,
and you as eccentric as I,
as its orbit around us.
You fill me with many pains
and utter ease and fullness
as heavy as an august moon,
bringing distance to instinct
and inertia in passion.
You stir the sea for me
Raging with happiness
Caught in the current
Like a drowning fisherman
But willingly as a seal.
Though the depths may end,
The pressure on my chest
Is like we are leagues below
Without a submarine
And no kraken to fight.
You rise like the tides,
Swelling my thoughts
Into stillness of overheating
With the ease of native
Animals in extremities.
And I, I move the moon,
To pull and push at you.
I live like the whale,
Still against the waves,
And trusting resident.
(March 16; stanza 3+ ETA March 17)
is the promise of denial,
a curl of satisfaction,
and confidence
in selfishness.
Run hands warm
with oil and skin
against the set of bones
and solid flesh,
the touch of greed.
Hands run smooth
long after tiring
of turning weight into sighs
and even breaths,
art in force.
Lay next to me,
heavy and still,
the heat of blood in me
and effort in you,
warm and languid.
The Moon and the Sea
You move the moon for me,
your movements graceful
as its waxing and waning,
and you as eccentric as I,
as its orbit around us.
You fill me with many pains
and utter ease and fullness
as heavy as an august moon,
bringing distance to instinct
and inertia in passion.
You stir the sea for me
Raging with happiness
Caught in the current
Like a drowning fisherman
But willingly as a seal.
Though the depths may end,
The pressure on my chest
Is like we are leagues below
Without a submarine
And no kraken to fight.
You rise like the tides,
Swelling my thoughts
Into stillness of overheating
With the ease of native
Animals in extremities.
And I, I move the moon,
To pull and push at you.
I live like the whale,
Still against the waves,
And trusting resident.
(March 16; stanza 3+ ETA March 17)