Saturday Scribbles: In Early June

Some Lies

In Early June

In the stoned murmur
of something
rushing through the
blood-dark sea,
there is the lost
hush of a wave
in your sigh
and a needful tide
in your command.
You fuck
the way I think--
rampant invasion
and wild aggression,
chaotic meter,
and measure gone
in an attempt to release
random longing.
You said,
“you are fucking unreal”
--as if I’d
disappear
as you came,
my existence
fueled only
by your thrust.
All curled toes
and screaming greed,
I taloned your back
to let you know
I was not gone,
nor would be going
soon,
or at all.

© Barbara Ann Black, 2010-2011