Ocoee

Her fingers
interlaced with mine, 

gently perfectly

skin, silhouetted by the remaining embers,
the sheen and freckles of sweat
nestled between perfect breasts,

warm sweet breaths
lingering against my roughened throat,
  
bare lips. the sparkle of the eyes.  the slender arch of cheekbones.  

 music
 intermittently,
drifting upwards
 through the branches of Tennessee pines,

bare feet upon soft dirty earth,
hands clutching waists,
nudity,
moonshine,
laughter, silence,
the hum and chant of summer crickets,


slow, rhythmic, sway,
dancing
beneath the stars,
among the timbers. 

only us,
our deepest versions,
our perfect rugged selves




Andrew Tipton

Watching the Ocean in the Morning

Your hands in the morning
the soft tips of your fingers,
the treading of your nails and bare palms,
oh my god / across my flesh
standing there in front of the window
ocean view,
crushing waves, and
thunderstorms,
lingering before you, 
my body erect and tall
your fingertips arch
stroking with steady intention
the muscles of my legs,
tenderly,
my inner calves,
the deep interior of my hips
achingly
my collar bones, down my untrimmed chest
delicate scratches,
perfect wounds,
carnivore,
riot,
claymore,
chinchilla,
the wisps of your hair
teasing,
tresses ravaging my purpose,
your breath,
lingering patches of warmth,
my skin is blacking out from the pleasure,
shuddering beneath your touch,
my heartbeat is a audible throb,
as we watch the ocean
together,
your hands in the morning
playing god,




 Andrew Tipton