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