Bruised

he was all teeth and muscle,
blades of white pinching at gooseflesh,
sharp intakes of air heaving and leaving in labored gasps and moans,
his warm wetness closing in around the sting,
sucking so hard my eyes clamped shut

but I did not arch away –
I pushed myself further into his mouth,
welcoming the pain,
as famished fingertips dug into my back as if reaching for something he could not wait to unearth

in that moment,
I wouldn’t have minded if he drew blood;
he was devouring me, consuming me

needing me

I gave all I had to give,
and I took it all in,
all he had to give,
the needing and the wanting and the desiring,
the unhindered exposing of his soul to mine,
the becoming
one

for, we knew,
in the giving and the taking,
in this most sacred exchange,
this unhindered merging,
we would both feel stronger than we’d ever felt before

more

in the end,
I would be covered in his marks,
scratches and ribbons of redness,
I would be rubbed straight to the bone with the kind of urgent exhaustion I imagined an addict feels between fixes

I would wake,
bruised to the marrow with him,
he a part of me,
and I of him

forever

-image via Tumblr, original source unknown; shared as part of dVerse Poet Pub’s Desire and Sexuality prompt

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25 thoughts on “Bruised

  1. This is scene we see so often in movies lately and yet the hair remains unruffled, the clothes untorn, the lips unswollen, the skin unmarked – but here at last is real passion – you absolutely capture the raw intensity of mutual need expressed as desire.

    Liked by 1 person

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