I feel the vastness of the hand
like I move my hands to and from the sun
or the moon to fit it right across the diameter
when it lands on your back and I start
moving up and down, to find
that you can’t be controlled like the sun
and the moon can be, from a distance,
that when I will scroll down to your beloved circle
you’ll be a rebel’s soul, parrying quietly
When my tongue will be a mast
in the throbbing waves of your inside
pointing towards the sky, it’ll
fight the battles of the seas,
with the purpose to make peace with it.
You will wet my tongue mast and I yours
moving, thrusting, squishing between
the winds of my two fingers,
you and I will sighs the winds of storms
like they were trying to create
another earth only more, more.
“It’s throbbing more and more,” she said
Let it feel that it longs for a pacifier,
that would heighten its heartbeats first
perhaps even a minor undetected heart attack
burning like the bed sheet under us
lilt of our movements making air
from the fans incapable of extinguising
the fire that will only rest once
it has watered all the trees inside.
