I would write songs with you

I would write songs with you...
could we... write...
And while we are lost in the pages...
Could my poison be filling you
Between
Your legs..  the juices
Flowing ..  up inside. 
While we are teasing the paper..  with our ink.
Could I.. 
Lay a notebook on your stomach..
While I lick stories around your
smooth slit..
your panting.. wet
treasure.  
Could I talk to you
of Tolstoy..  or the Leaves of Grass
while your eyes meet mine..  
hold my gaze while I grasp your hair
and your mouth
wraps its lips,
embracingly
 around my shaft.. 
laps.. the throbbing
want of you..
    calls me..
gnaws my masculine with your sharpened teeth
bite.. stroke... lick.. bite..
Slave girl.
Philosopher..
Goddess..
Lover...
Traveler..
I want to tie you to your elegant bed
The four corners
hands and bare feet
and feed you...
Sway..
against the pale softness of your skin
In.
And.
Out. 
Our eyes rediscovering each other
our truest condition..
Tethered. Tied. Ravaged.
Tortured.  Relentlessly.
I want to bend you into the darkest corners of yourself.
And hold close to you.. so you know I am there with you.
I want to devour you.
without mercy or fragile civility. 
and make you hurt
ache
suffer. 
So you know we are the same one.

And our eyes never stop speaking..
never stop searching into each other..

I tremble with the thought of you
tonight.  




Andrew Tipton

Summer in the Mountains

When you look at me,
I feel the adoration of god
upon my face, 
I feel wholesome,
reckless and known,
there is this subtle quietness
raging
behind your eyes..
like the sensation of being tousled in a wave,
and
feeling the blue thoughts of the ocean
playing games,
sincere and curious,
if
you believe me, and are not afraid
lets
build tipis in Nebraska together,
I have longed to spend summer in the mountains.  









Andrew Tipton