
Tonight, inside my schizophrenic shyness, I begin to write
my story, etched upon your flesh as my pen quivers in its wet
ink, and I use my wildest imagination.
In this, my latest dream, I imagine I’ve become
a bashful bird-man; I am
a lone black crow, soaring,
my hot beak
across your naked torso. It is a wide & barren field
of warm hot-chocolate, caramel & velvet where
golden-russet protuberances heave,
thrust & slowly greet the moist
crease of these lips.
Do you feel slight puffs of wind
when we kiss?
Are they soft wet pillows or
more like kisses from
a sun-lit sentinel, watching
my gliding wayward lust?
As my bird’s eye view surveys this
sweeping land of you, I touch-down upon
a whole new kingdom
where flames ignite &
karma collides w/ a rush of sighs.
And I am soaring to
this drumming of our heartbeats;
& you & I are breathless
& embossed in
hot beads of sweat.
The peak of my beak
retreats, then pecks
thru grassy pleasure
trails thru stones,
thru pricks,
thru bush & fluids
until, I become
a vulnerable
ventriloquist
throwing chirps & curses, throwing
my most humid of voices
in a sly & manic language of
slurps, hisses, suckles &
the sweetest of
breathy passages
from the heights of
this night’s erotic poetry
we’ve yet to
write.

copyright © 2019 by L.M. Ross
