Sweet Games

The way our eyes catch at the corners.
As we pass.
I love that you are nameless.
An apparition; still of my own design.
I feel your eyes like sunshine on my shoulders.
Do you also feel mine? Gazing.
The way I watch you from adjacent angles.
Darting. Scandalously.
Watch your hips roll away like perfect waves.
Purple dress magnetic sweet spot.
The linger of a smile on your lips.
Falling from a laugh. Still lingering.
Your dark hair, at the shoulders.
Your elegant stride.
Makes my chest thump.
Makes my veins glow.
Still sailing on the feeling of thievery.
Venturing into a beautiful aphrodisiac,
What soft whispers, under the breath,
said in passing.
What thoughts tucked away, hidden beneath appearances.
We stalk each other. Like a sunrise. Slow, growing intensity.

I know our mouths would love to greet each other.
With an embrace.
Accidentally, on the stairs at midnight.
Accidentally, on your balcony - steal a kiss.
I imagine you taste like dark chocolate and petite sirah.
A revelation to the tongue.
My senses howl at the thought of it.
At the thought of you.

Let your irises find mine again tomorrow.






Andrew Tipton

Fingertips Through Her Hair

Y9u sit.
In front of me, you shoulders bare,
you skin showing. Glowing. Copper brown.
your back arched.
These hands.
Want to wrap themselves into your senses.
Want to undress your dangerous mind.
Want to seduce every curl and ringlet.
Wave and long slender strands.
Rushing between my fingertips.
Pull and tug, against. Gentle.
Gently, then again.. release.
Pull you away from me.
Towards my body.
Twist with emotion and restrained force.
I want to unravel you.
Watch as you relax into my hands.
As you let me massage the unknown fears from your temples.
I watch you dissolve.
No more tension.
No more words.
No more thoughts.
Drift beneath my hands.
I will untie your threads.
Pull. Release.
Hold. Release.
My hands adore the feeling. Like fine silk.
Never tire of wandering.
Pull. Release.
Let yourself go.
Let me inside. I whisper.
As I kiss your slender neck.


Andrew Tipton

Strokes

I have listened to your sighs.
Paid close attention to the motion of your hips.
My gifts are of the purest intent. Pleasure supreme. Unmatched.
Relentless in my affections, in my expressions of ecstasy.
You remember. Wanting already my caresses.
You press yourself towards my lips..
gently, raised, pushing against. Desire to be. Stroked.
Eager for my. Mouth.
Patience..
Patience as I travel down your body.
My pilgrimage to your Mecca.
I am like the sunrise; I will not be rushed.
Kiss. Slowly, softly like a single drop of rain.
Kiss. Slowly, lingering like wet dew on a flower.
Single kiss. And another.
I wander down your body with a thousand traces of my lips.
A thousands places to explore before I worship your prize.
My tongue. Gentle laps around your navel,
single, sublime. Strokes.
Along your thighs,
Down your pale calves,
Kisses around your ankles..
I will not be rushed.
Come closer. I come closer.
Up your legs, in circles.
Closer.
To your hips. My lips.
Closer.
These stokes.. drawing you toward the light.
The devine experience.
Closer. Still.
tracing. Following your sacred curves with soft wet kisses.
Undoing every stone in your mind.
Loosing your wild pony energy.. Stampede.
Finally..
Here I am. Close your eyes. Yes. Here I am.
Oh god yes. Here. I am.
Let my mouth finally find you.
Pressing firm against your flesh. Tease you still.
Warm bath. Massage. Strokes.
I feel the rest of your body melt away.
I feel you shudder beneath my lips.
Kiss.
Lick.
My tongue savors each taste.
Jasmine. Melting sapphires.
Strokes the walls of your temple.
Like a storm that does not cease.
Like waves to the warm beaches..
constant. relentless.
Here. still there are a thousand ways to seduce you.
To undo you.
I am yours until the night breaks.
Until you break.
I will not be rushed..
Strokes.
Licks.
Kisses.




Andrew Tipton

Favorite Dream

Breathe me up. Breathe me inside.
you color your lips, and crimson becomes your child.
Maybe a color that has never been named,
Maybe a song that has never been heard.
I say prayers for the morning,
Ask god for a reason to believe in something more than lust.
Hold up your hands because there is nothing left to do with them.
Open your mouth, because I want to hear your mind,
every bruised word and delicate thought.
can you describe yourself to my ears,
using words that rhyme with our names.
Using hunger, using sacred motions that and never used between people,
only between the animals,
only between the trees,
only by the most spiritual prophets;
I want to hear songs that mountains whisper to one another.
In the morning when their edges are lined in deep red lava lamp blue.
I want to be on top, cling to the rocks, cling to the circle of a dying sun.
We watch each other's eyes.. hoping that they still shine in the afterlife.
Hoping that we will live as long as our imaginations grow like roses,
red, wild, uncut, un-nurtured - splendid like fireflies in a tornado.
You are my favorite dream.
How many times will I run my fingers through your hair,
before you realize I am consumed by it.
Undone by it,
By your eyes, by your laugh, by your adventurous lips,
by your mysterious skin.
I want to convince you never to take back the brilliance in your eyes,
what they have seen, what they have loved about the confusion of our days,
the moments that the world never noticed.
I love that you notice... that you tell me... that you express yourself
in the morning with your body, naked and unafraid.
Linger that way, stay. I would love it if you stayed, close to the breaths from my chest.
Close to my arms, close to my smile.







Andrew Tipton

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

Kisses (a cover)

your kisses are so wet.
As if dew formed on your lips.
My mouth is heavy, my weight bearing down,
against your lips.
Tongues eagerly meet.
They interlock and entwine,
like a thread.
Touching.
Tasting.
Your lips, close then open
spreading like satin wings. They fly.
How wonderful my kisses feel
Chasing the curves of your neck
Hunting for soft skin.
They press - touch, with wild sweetness
and affectionate glory.
They linger, slowly
Causing you to heavily sigh, to lightly moan.
These kisses feel delicious.
They tease your breasts, nipples perking. Swollen.
They dance over your firm stomach,
encircle your navel. Lower.
Skin inflamed. Demanding caresses.
They hungrily taste the sweat collected
in between your aching thighs.
These kisses.
How seductive.