cryptic

the candles are burning low
enough
only revealing the sweat clinging
in the curve of your hips,
the
silhouette of your bare breasts,
and
the strands of your hair
feigning modesty,
on our backs beneath the netting,
side by side,
fingers stroking,
thunderstorm,
howler monkeys,
palm branches,
tree house
fuck, the rain
forest.
I want to stay inside
you
all morning.
trace your Costa Rican tan lines
with the gentle ferocious of my lips,
spread you
open
your eyes and legs,  wide
awake but its like a dream
here
alone with you.
I feel your obscenity,
your thoughts escaping through shortened breaths,
your hands and tongue,
circling, drifting, caressing
lower
gripping, stroking, conjuring
my masculine
desire. 
I am throbbing
in your grasp. 
these weeks of solitude
have left
me
ravenous
for you,
the stormy raging beneath your eyes,
the cryptic whispers of your mouth,
your fearless
your innermost
desire
 to be wrecked,
torn to pieces
with animalistic affection,
the rain
is our witness,
the ocean watches
with guilty fascination
as
my muscular body
instinctually pins you
beneath me, 
your wrists and throat
clutched,
mounted,
our sweat mixing,
as alchemists,
our eyes tethered with wild
unbroken
intensity,
your back arching,
your mouth ever so slightly,




Andrew Tipton

Reading the Tides

my love(r). 
it seems the tide has left us
castaways.  adrift in each other's presence.  
we have the beach to ourselves. 
the southern sunset winds playing games with your hair.  now
the forests of mangroves - melt into a single undulating shape.
  suspended.   hammocks.  linger
and we too.  in them. 
   your skin is pastel, delicate. 
 hidden beneath the shadows
of passing clouds,  late.  afternoon sunlight falls itermittantly upon your face
and between your eyes.
 inspiration for the heart.
your fingers loosly brush. your cheeks blush
as I stroll
along. 
by the way.   your name looks lovely scrolled
along my pages.
   we write each other down. 
and I take notes.
   of the way your lips seems to pry me away from my solitude
of the way.
your laugh reminds me of navy blue. jellyfish. dancing..
    waves spread from your lagoons


Andrew Tipton
    
 

The Voodoo

I'm fifty stories up
screaming at the moon over Vegas,
ROARING.  with a whiskey in a fist.
sprawled out before me, like an eager gift
for my mouth
licks it up, laps the juice off the neon signs
totally nude
she asks to join me. and then I do. 
I have no use for these blaring lights
or your fascination
with sex. you all
will find that there is muchness buried here.
tucked away in the ballrooms and in
the tattoo shops.  where dancing turns
into affection, and affection
into love.
I only want to chew the stains off my
collar tonight
and breed
contempt for the girls
walking, heels in hand
their dirty bare feet
 scraping the pavement. 


Andrew Tipton