Your name is a sweet pearl in the middle of my mouth resting on my restless tongue, my restless tongue stilled by your words, by your eyes. Your name is a sweet pearl in my mouth rolling back and forth electrifying the tips of my fingers expanding my ribs to fit this new ecstasy, this ecstasy I thought I wasn’t capable of.
This ecstasy, this ecstasy, because our tongues are well versed in each other, because our tongues dance and touch and flick and tease and push and pull and our words found home with one another and our lips. Our lips and their electricity and their gentle questions and shy answers, their probing and prodding and searching and finding. Your lips, your small pink flower lips, your soothing soft sweet lips. Your lips that are reducing me to clichés I thought I was exempt from. Your name on my tongue, our tongues our lips and their surprised sweet unions, and our words, words that make perfect sense together, words that fit each other like the pieces of a jigsaw that had finally found their counterparts, their edges and center, their purpose.
Let me sketch those eyes onto the insides of my wrists, those sad Arab girl eyes. Those wide I have seen things you wouldn’t wish to see eyes. Those fierce, powerful eyes. Let me sketch those eyelashes onto the insides of my wrists, their surprising daintiness and unexpected strength, their magic tricks and practical functions and aesthetic aspects.
Press your cold fingers against my cheeks, dig your fingertips in my fevered temples because you light me up and you, you keep me from bursting into flames. Let me simmer, let me spark, and let me love.
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Let us lie down on the beds in furniture stores and count the scars on our thighs and our arms. Let us lie down and play connect the dots with our respective heartbreaks and bruises, compare the contrast of our traumas and personal tragedies.
Tell me your stories, let me write them down on my arms and the back of my eyes. Let me weave them into song and hum them to you as you fall asleep in the middle of all the beautiful objects that might never become ours. Let me tell you my story, give you the pieces I can afford to give away and you can wrap them up and put them away for later use. Let’s shatter our stories and start anew, pick the pieces apart and arrange the words in the colors and patterns we like.
Don’t let the bitter taste of betrayal take this away from us.
Let us unite in our anger and our affection. We will use our nails and our teeth to protect each other and ourselves. Our mouths will be our weapons and our eyes will be our shields. Let us find the cure with the touch of each other’s lips and fingertips. Take this joy and let me bask in this delight.
Let us be monsters in our defense. Let us be lovers in our defense.
