Prime Ordeal

I have a need to tell you,
that you are my rumour
that swells
like the 4th rib
in the cage
when i breathe

When i sat covered
with the platonic threads of my bedsheet,
your head appeared
near my chest.
And your hair stood bowed in my hands
while mine stood at its end.

I only want to see you in a selfish way.
With eyes fixed upon your mouth.
Immaculate.
Simultaneously
usurping your fondness for my earlobes.
You like their softness.

I've never known a body in all its fire.
But i rake it with other worlds.
And i suspend your eyes and their swift lust
with
my own waiting duskiness in the spine,
and arches of the back

Do you see my thighs?
My navel could be unknotted with your fingers. With paused pressure.

But i prefer that we remain impure
That i never kiss you and that your careless stubble
like other things childish about you, linger in my house.

I go mad when it rains.
It's a soft madness.
Because I sink with wet sorrows
Of almost- mouths and jumbled words
that i have never known.

I rub mirrors and walls
with my lips.
Leave my traces
anonymously.
Become incoherent because of the world's hard texture
that
cannot
become
your
skin

I only part my ribcage
when your name arrives.
Otherwise, i let my warmth
sleep with your voice elsewhere in my head.
Open me someday.



You'll know then.