It’s Not Porn If I’m In Love

bowie sex1 bowie sex2

The cum congeals in my hair, our riotous lovemaking

my mussed head pressed to your short-winded sternum.

And it’s here;

I taste the divine light shrouding our shaky bodies

like I have a furnace for a soul, and only you make it burn.

You replace my corporeal pillow with a bed sheet

roosting over me so you can read my bones.

Furrowed lips tell each freckle of mine why

it’s essential to your subsistence, a kiss on each.

I confess my “at long last’s” to your whiskered cheek,

finger the caked strands of my curls and stretch out my limbs

to discover yours.

By: Casey Keel, Submittier

Featured Image by Nan Goldin 

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