My Poet Lover

Darkness. As we run from it.. it calls to us..
seduces what we fear,
our most timid and lucid dreams.
We do not wish to take care.
We do not wish to be safe at all times.
she is one of these,
a vision that must be released in to the wild..
a leopard in the night breezes of Washington.
Look up to me with those eyes,
would you. Explain to me your complexity and your silent knowledge.
What others write in volumes. You. Say.
In words. Say. In poems. from your eyes.
Do not lose your blackness..
your dark depths. Beautiful treacherous.


Andrew Tipton

Brendalis

The scent of blue. Denim.
I can almost taste the rivers, inside.
Deep below the surface. where your urges melt into unreserved desire;
into relentless, fleshly stories.
I hear it on the tip of your thoughts. See it in your eyes as they meet and then vanish behind shadowed walls.
I watch while your hands reach up to remove the ivory porch canopy. Your delicate fingers unbuttoning the clasps, tying simple knots in the ropes, and in my chest.
I require water,
You uncross your legs and obey my voice.. steadily and calmly.
Yet beneath is a trembling pulse, a vision of being unwoven, loose and helpless.
What do you know of thirst?
Is it these rigid poses that cause our mouths to be parched?
Where does your heart go to live, to thrust and fuck?
Puerto Rican sunshine. Felicidad.
Not here.. not to this music.
Somewhere else then.. I will take you. There.
I fear and adore the moments when eyes are not upon us.
When we own each other's gaze for seconds at a time.
What I would do to you.
I will place you inside my mouth and walk through those open doors..
They will not see us leave together.
They will not know, as they do not know now.
I will hold you there on my tongue, until you melt.
Until I am satisfied.
Until my thirst for you has been quenched.
We were made for the most sacred touch.
For more than clean lines, and the years that follow tomorrow.
Brendalis.
Kiss me before we fade away.
When I leave, you will remember me.



Andrew Tipton