By Wade Martin
want to pour words over your skin like grapes, like wine, like water in a bay, a cove, an underwater cave, the gentle shore cradling your hips arms legs and I cradling your mouth in my mouth, breast on my breast, and the ocean growing fainter, fainter as we coalesce
want to tell a story to each of your separate toes, move down the peroneus brevis to the meaty calcaneus, journey every ridge of each blue vein like an aimless canoe on a strong river-stride, arch you as I clamp your arch between my teeth, savage as an ankle bone, tender as talus
want to cover your breast in juices and hands hands hands my strong hands on your tits like my strong hands on your thighs, mountains of pleasure, quaking flesh, the two sides of you I try to meld into one, magnificent breasts, pressed against them my face like a cock in your canal
want to hold your hands like knives I enjoy cutting me, cotton-picking me tenderly and rough, temple-holders and fire-eaters, popsicles of delight, linkage of the brain and heart, twisting sensation around my tongue, probe and harvester, tiny selves spread out along my sides
want to shrink and journey through your mouth, watch the tongue and uvula decide which words and how, the womb of your work, last body from your mind, palace of sound and move, roller coaster of poem, breathing in and out, and I tucked in and settled down cozy for the ride
want to soft silk your masseter, tear your trapezius, tongue the length of the sternal head, take the clavicular out for a good time, soak up the blood, quick-passion beat of time, your essence of God in the breath like a vine under your skin, I soak it in, drink it up, am blood and smile
Wade Martin is co-editor of the Texas Poetry Calendar, co-host of the Mind Maze reading series at Malvern Books and a 2014 Pushcart nominee. He is also a Teaching Artist with Badgerdog and the Freehand Arts Project, with recent publications in Perfume River Poetry Review, Freshwater, and SPANK the CARP.