Mercy
I want to take you in my mouth
Taste on my tongue
What it means to move you
From mute to wanting
Under me
To dredge
The tender tide of life
From drought —
To watch
The jolt of tension
In your jaw
As it unburdens
Into chill
Texture tightening over your surface
Brimming, birthing rivets
To make
All that is hidden in you
Mold and bend
And bow metronomically
To need unresolved
To turn
With my teeth
The torrent
Of muscle
In your thighs
To find
Something of god
In your breathing
Messy, fraying
Warmth of repentance
Stretched out like baptism
Over me
If, in this,
I’m the first to ask for mercy,
please don’t listen.
Read more from Amy Echstenkamper
~ And Poetry After Dark