A pair of small brown hills wrapped in skin,
growing fat with the beauty of fire.

Your tongue circles my danger
like some cat out of Persia
stealthing around two chained dobermans.

Our pleasure strokes the air
until it hisses white
and forms an island made of chanting steam.

Every tear that drops from my heart
makes your tongue hungry for another.

I watch the sticky candy our shadows make,
up there, on the ceiling,
and feel ashamed because I feel no shame.

Fury sweeter than grapes purple on their vine
takes over our singular heat.
Like thunder drunk and heavy upon the soft-furred mountain.

It doesn’t matter if my eyes are closed or open.
I have been lost this blind and this deep inside of you for days.

Spinning around and turning over. Turning over
and spinning around. Begging louder and louder for more.

© Aberjhani

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