call it a drug

Anonymous_Poet

Under my salt-slicked skin,

In my shivering spine,

Your voice reverberates dirty promises,

Cloaked in saccharine sensations,

 

I call you my love-high,

 

Beneath sweat-stained sheets,

Above my shaking shape,

Your tongue languidly dragging through flesh,

Carving out shivering streams,

 

I call you my deep relief, my oxygen, my muse,

 

Below my soaked scalp,

Beyond shuddering shoulders,

Your body plastered into mine withdraws,

Crawling away sharp and slowly, 

 

I called for more but you are spent,

 

Inside my shifting, sunken stomach,

In between the searing swarm,

Your vacancy leaving me sweltering and aching,

Collapsing in, mind spinning, swimming,

 

I call for more but you are gone,

 

 

I call you my savior, 

They call you a drug

  • Author: yours truly (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: October 25th, 2023 02:33
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 6
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Comments2

  • Thomas W Case

    Powerful write.

  • MendedFences27

    The muse is a fickle beast, She/he/it comes on their own terms and leaves as quickly. We can beg/pray/demand their return but to no avail. This is the spastic life of a poet. "They call you a drug," sums it all up. Why else would we do this. Beautiful poetry. - Phil A.

    • Anonymous_Poet

      thank you so much for reading!



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