Graphic by Ava Sol
1
when i explore you with my mouth, i knot my fingers in your scalp, to find what’s close enough. i want to give you all of me, fulfill what your touch guaranteed, and fear you won’t respect the gift. you kiss me like you know, that i don’t want to go, but i don’t trust affection. so when we lay here finished, and you hug me for a minute, you baffle all my sense. enveloped, i nose your neck, as your pulse slows my anxious breath, my index taps the rhythm on your chest. if i stay still will this moment stick? if i touch you now would you come again? in an answer, you roll our rest, to place an ear between my breasts, and thrill to hear my heart’s tempo. you scare me when you excite me, i believe you, and i suspect you. but when our legs are weaved like this, our breath in synchronicity, when you are here to help hold me, all else fades to periphery.
2
i spent this morning slurping tea reminiscing on the things your fingers did to me in the cool morning air in polluted white light it’s clear to me now that we weren't quite right but your fingers. Fuck. so i make a note for future me a mental note for her if you need to have great sex find a fucking drummer
3
a song plays in my head and my heart drums up your ghost i remember the way you made me feel it echoes in my pulse my heart was at a rest before in respite from its ornery tune you came in time and picked it up your technique made me croon you made it all feel easy i never felt excessive you smiled and relaxed my mind each reaction reflexive i feel the memory of your weight my chest aches from the absence my back recalls the steadfast touch of hands in throes of passion your arms tangled me in longing a composition dangerous as your drug then your laugh sang a siren song and drowned me in a flood but i was too inventive i heard an end that wouldn’t be i romanticized our blended breath and got lost in your sea and still i miss your resonant voice and how you chord with me i thought we were the one that worked i wish you agreed with me
4
i was the melody. he was the beat. our first words set the score. “let’s start a band,” “i’m very down,” so began our musical rapport. and when we kissed, we composed with instinct, both trained in change of interval. we felt the hymn in every move; our sense of harmony: visceral. he played with pace and made me eager. he changed the kick and flirted with meter. like call-and-response, i took him in stride, and challenged his movements with mine. i bound him in undulant serenade, touched him in verse, and kissed him in rhyme. i devised themes to inspire, compelled him with my flow. he motivated me with rhythm, and we put on a show. we spoke in vibrations. we lived in cadence. we jammed. we grooved. we jazzed. our song overwhelmed my heart. we were infinite, we never dragged. i gave him my library to play whatever, thought we breathed in sensual unity. i felt we were writing a sonata. our synchronicity brought me to lunacy. i thought he felt me. i thought he heard me. every song must reach an end. some inventions go only so far. and in dreaming of a perfect piece, i lost sight of who we are. we played pretend and felt our instruments reach a final plateau. our rhythm fell out of sync. the communication lost its tempo. i made my head hurt as i wept in riffs. i cried as true as i can. i took a deep breath. i rolled my eyes, cause i fell a little in love with that jazzman. and though i now write something new, though i devise an aria acoustic, i miss the thing we made together. i miss our nights in music.