Where are You?

Where are you?
Close to his arms?
In between the warmth?
I am awake to wonder.
Her arms limp around me,
Her sleeping breathes in my ears.
But I am yours. You ride my thoughts like a chariot,
around my guarded walls.
I close my eyes.
My hands stroking her.
But. Really. Stroking you.
Where are you?



Andrew Tipton

Waterfalls

Black tresses.
A midnight waterfall spilling down her.
breasts.
Twin rose tips.
Smooth curved stones.
Cutting through the river's madness.
Tangles.
I want to throw a silver coin into a wishing well,
want to watch it slip below.
Down. Down.
It rest finally against her skin.
It shimmers.
look at all the wishes around her neck.
She must be a spring.
Wet and inviting.
I want to drink her in my mouth,
want to plunge inside her.
Depths.
Under her waterfall tresses.




Andrew Tipton

Salamanders

My desire is a poem in your mouth:
I anticipate this miracle of myself,
scratching the words, opening the legs
of my tomorrow, licking your heart
with care.

I feel.
It is a morning glory, a story to be
worshipped: I kneel down, I bow.
You sleep in my altar, in every inch
of me.
I feel.

My desire is a waterfall inundating
your hands, howling like a thunder
over your soft rocks of pleasure.
Flowers fall: it would be an unexpected beauty
if our mossy bodies could breath.
-if-

You you you
Salamanders burn under my quilt,
Yes, you are my myth, a creature born
of my fire.
Maybe you are the fire of my fire.
I keep my dream warm as I cuddle my desire,
searing my soul and eyes, heating those moments
washed by the moonlight.

I sigh.
My passion and my conscience struggle together.
A salamander rests on my breast:
I call you you you
and when you read my metaphors
my flames consume me. I die.
But don't believe your eyes.
If you come close,
you won't see me my dearest:
you will see
a Phoenix Rising.

My desire is my deathless inspiration melting
in your tongue.





Karla Bardanza

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