Carnal Instinct of a Beautiful Sin.
Taste the sweat and salt above my lip. Let me feel you up against me. Hips locked on mine. Pelvis on pelvis, heart on heart. Me on top, my chest on yours while we make love.
You inside me.
Cradled in your cosmic glory and grace, craving in a state of tantalizing torment. Frozen without a flinch, while you ravage every square inch. Energy travels through the wilderness of our embrace. Sensation and stimulation everywhere, we come, and so do tears.
My heart is a formidable faction, raw and real, like my ever-changing dreams. One day it’s an impassioned plea to set me free. The next day I’m here with you, completely in the moment, bereft with beauty and blame. You manifest yearning in every part of my being, surrounded by my elusive emotional intensity and fate filled with fear. Help me cue a coup for the high fences and defenses around my heart.
Maybe it’s implicit bias or maybe damage control, but I tell myself I have better things to do than to stand outside your door. But sometimes when I can’t sleep, I wander a little more. I wonder and wander. I wonder if carnal instincts of beautiful sins are my new normal. I wonder what happened to my belief system and what my legacy will be. Truth is, my realest relationship is fake.
I wonder who I am.
Mere mortal? Maven mistress of madness? Do I conform to moral authority? What if I eat the forbidden fruit? Is there mercy for me? I’ve always wanted to be like you, doing what I love for a living. Living a life of love.
I wander, like Moses on a mountaintop, and wonder: What if you let me…
… sleep with your soul,
Entrap you in ecstasy
Strum your guitar,
Free the tension from your hips with my finely-tuned lips
Show you a steady stream of bliss,
Raise the dead and move mountains
What if you let me fuel your fantasies,
Fan the five-alarm fire in my chest
Let me make your knees buckle,
Faith and heat between my legs
Let me be the ‘differently’ in the way you see things,
Stay here on hallowed ground
What if you let me be what you thought you could only imagine,
Leave your jaw trembling
Let ‘good’ and ‘weird’ not be mutually exclusive
Expose my heart, not just my hips
Let me be the reprise that never gets old,
Travel with pulsating energy
What if you let me be your star,
Forever in luck
Let me be your heart,
Pump air in your lungs
Let me be your bottom line,
Restore your faith
Let me surrender,
Bated breath on my back
Let me be your afterlife,
Mix your scent with mine
Let your final resting place be with me,
My tongue on your perfect teeth
What if you just let it happen?
Let me open your vault so you can let me in.
Amy Blanaru is a left-leaning Celtic Gypsy based in Boston. She works in addiction treatment and likes her pasta al dente. You can find her on Facebook.