i have misunderstood
the plum
something so simple
something often overlooked
we feed each other slices
of sweet
ripe fruit
collecting the juice
with our tongues
and sucking out the flavor
from our lips
we taste both the fruit
and each other’s skin
this is our language
words don’t work for us
it feels primal
it feels perfect
this is all we want
sticky fingers and lips
and the pit we leave behind
i have not entered the room
where
we devoured each other.
where our
bodies feasted upon each other
with desire,
and hunger.
light enters
and casts shadows
that shift across the floor.
a gentle breeze, soft as breath,
stirs up echoes.
i hear faint sounds
that are almost voices,
almost words,
almost memories.
the scent of skin
soft light falls gently
across an arched
body
that shifts
beneath my touch
shadows
of hands reaching
to face
of naked flesh
of hands to body
of being
and of becoming
I speak a foreign language.
It feels like there are endless syllables and countless vowels,
And I speak it alone.
All I want is to feel good in my body and connect with someone else.
But I feel tangled
in a language that only I seem to understand.
When I speak, it feels heavy in ways I can’t describe.
It brings out meanings I never meant.
I kept my desire for pleasure and true connection to myself,
afraid of how much
my words might weigh on someone.
Then gentle fingers touched my lips and quieted the sounds.
A mouth met mine and took my words away.
Every syllable and vowel slowly faded.
As each sound lingered,
A voice, speaking my language, said,
I hear you.
I know your intentions.
I understand.
Speak without fear.
Speak honestly and
rest here, open and true
free from worry.
my longing for physical pleasure
and the sense of real connection came back.
With the language we both understand,
the language we share together,
We can show each other who we really are.
We will trace letters with our tongues,
and with soft breaths on our necks, we will write our stories.
onebreathpoetry.com 