wake up dead

I woke abruptly
and she was straddling
my hips
with her own,
pushing against me
in rhythm
only wearing
underwear, soft moans.

As if in some divine dream
I pulled off her shirt,
bare-back
illumination her breasts,
desparate sexual un-rest.

I flipped her
over
and sat up –
silence between
her open legs
brooded
with need,
she lay there
waiting
for me.

It seemed that
all
I’d wished for
found
it’s pinnacle,
and I’d imagined
before
all the ways to touch her
for years of nights of days of seconds –

and now,
I could not touch her –

not completely. Why?

I just want to un-do
everything
you are made of;
molecule-by-molecule
I want to un-do you
with my tongue.

Why
can’t I just        use you
and
take you apart?
Why is this moment
my kinetic art?  and only
for you
a denial of sunrise,
a sacrificial
burning of my soul?

I could not touch you –
not completely,
not with
all of my weak
disgusting
care
that curl into fleshy forms
of Madness.

Madness
told me himself, “Do not touch her”
so I held you to sleep
instead. I knew it was
disgustingly complacent, a regret,
but for a vital love
that killed
me.

Morning came
and she was still shining in sun
warming bare breasts
pressed against my back.

We did not say a word
when we woke
until her bareness was hidden and snug
under cloth once again.
In their place of refuge;

she meant to say, “these are not for your eyes.”

I spoke first: I told her my dream.
“We were at a mountain peak
driving in blind darkness.
We could not see where to go,
but still I press the gas
while you give me all Trust
and we
f
a
l
l
off the edge
plunging and smacking
against the hardest surface
called Death.”

We said goodbye
without explanation, and I hated myself
without hating you
again and always.

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