Morning

The darkest of shadows the most intimate of whispers. Edges of lakes in the very early morning.
Swimming naked under the eyes of fading stars. She looks into my eyes and almost through me as our hands move across each others' bodies. The honesty in fingertips, skin does not lie. The first glowing embers of a new day.
The last drops of red wine drip down blades of grass; our blanket keeps back the dew. Merlot on the back of my tongue; running through my veins; my lips stained. I am still swimming.
She stands there dripping wet, skin shimmering, silent - exploring the first moments of a breaking dawn. She is stunning; a goddess made of human clay, sculpted with delicate hands.. created to exist only for a moment. I watch this happening with bewilderment - the day coming to life, our night retreating... what is now, will soon be only a sacred memory.
I want to breathe this deep inside of me..
I want lose myself in the lines of her curves, the lines of her arched back and outstreched arms, the lines of her laughter.
Where you born to rule my dreams? To enslave my eyes and mouth?
My stained lips find her as the horizon turns to purple-crimson-copper.
Salvation as a dreamer knows it.. from the mind outwards.
We are most beautiful when we are only human.
When distance is forgotten. Can you even live at a distance?
Can you feel the delicate things.. a perfect kiss and a smile concealed by darkness? Not at a distance.
my fingers lost in the dark tangles of your hair.
my thoughts tracing the tangles of your words.
my doubts suffocated by the tangle of your arms.
Not at a distance.
There is no space between us and creation at this moment.
There is only here, now.



Andrew Tipton

Omission.

Here I am. Bare, lying awake next to a naked body. Arms wrapped/ intertwined. I can feel our heartbeats.. skin against skin. My lips slightly parted, the taste of sweat on my tongue. A rambling, trembling mind.. the thoughts that take you inside of all of yourself. Can we exist as two people? As live breathing animals? Can we talk about what drives us. The drive beyond all drives. Can you tell what pleasure means to you? Honest to goodness this has to happen.
From the desert outside Las Vegas and everything since then... these are our theories.


Andrew Tipton