Back table
bottle of something hot
between us
burning our lungs
setting our nerves on edge

Come closer, I don’t bite, you said.

But oh, how you lie
and how you do
on all the places
I want you too.

Feel my magnetic field
you walk right into me
I yield
fearless of getting burnt
opening up your arms
you want all my pain
for you understand
I can never be that tree
you thought I would be.

Your cool stance
blows my hair in the wind
in a temporal trance
smack in the middle of the sky
I fall weak to your words
with no wings to fly.

Convince me of anything
you know you can
you have the power to fling
the words like no other man
but you use it wisely
timely
a pro
a bro
leaving my body undone
while on a paper and pen
where we write from
sentences mingle and bend
to each other
and make love
with ease in a silent breeze
they connect and detect
a truth.

Try to catch the fucking sun
forget about the moon
and its phases
we need the heat
to make everything complete
less complicated
as you magically trace my body
with pen strokes on your fingertips
then quickly replace them
with your rough lips
and eager hands grasp my hips.

All from the dark back table
and
nothing again
seems stable.

7 thoughts on “Back Table

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