my eyes become the moon

Oh I remember this one:

Hanging from the barstool

That waits just inside the door;

I remember the positioning:

                Precarious,

                And scintillating.

Leather-clad,

And dangling

Like that space between your legs…

So appetizing,

                (Is that my mouth watering…?)

You’re not even trying,
But I'm stumbling,
Over words and off-topic.

And I remember

Something funny,

Happening on …facebook

But I can’t

…for the life of me

Seem to find myself to care.

And I remember

Listening

To the sounds of someone breathing

Threatening

To whisper-wheeze

And loving-squeeze

As lips brush wet and succulent,

You bring me to my (breathless) knees.

And I remember

Mimicking

The way that every muscle danced

The way we each would writhe and sing

And rise across the bed…

All glowing white,

Inside my (throbbing) head.

And Winter comes with passing dreams

Awakened eccentricities

To lap and lick my dripping mind…

It’s fogging up the mirrors.

And ashtrays are a Fire Hazard

Igniting stubs of Electric Ashes

Burning Every (where) It touched,

(It’s) consuming me again.

The colder it becomes outside,

The hotter this apartment grows:

                As soon as I am Home Inside,

                                It’s off with all my clothes.

And I remember this one:

Slipping Into

Something a bit more

…Comfortable.

Hang my purse from back the barstool

Waiting just inside the door;

And I remember the hilarity:

                Of facebook innuendos,

                And how tit-illating telling them,

That Black Leather

Was my Imperative.

That it was…

Dangling -

- No,

 hanging on

To the backs of doors by knobs,

Or Chairs

With backs that supported straps

…

“Every night. --

                                                                -- I do this (withmypurse) every night.”

‘Cause there’s that space between the words,

That hitches with your sighs.

And with Winter comes the fear,

                That it’s a dream.

And I remember

Panicking

The way that every Heart’s beat danced,

The Way you make It sing;

You bring me to my knees.

And kissing you ’s a (Fire) Hazard

Igniting burned out crevices,

Of hollowed, jaded, dried-up

Deserts.

Electric Ashes,

                                My Heart becomes:

Burning everywhere You touched;

Consume(Mating) Me Again.

And I remember

Something clever,

But I can’t

…for the life of me

Seem to find myself to care.

Nothing exists beyond your Lips,

My fingers twist inside your curling hair;

                                                Drawn up into Loving Arms

And Breathing,

Breathe a sigh.

In shaking, silent laughter

Dancing

The Air

Grows warm and fills me…

--

And my eyes be(come) the moon.

 

“my eyes become the moon”

a poem by Meghan Johnson

written November 29^th, 2012