“A Long Musk”

“A Long Musk”

Let’s go down to that secret place.

That place where you can be who you want to be.

Who you are?

Where we can revel in the glory of attraction and anticipation.

Bated breath.

Sweat.

Chest to breast.

Bold biology.

Fulfillment.

Elbows, lips, pliable flesh.

Pink, purple, red, mocha.

Salt kisses, fingers submerged.

Dainty fingertips gliding along the periphery.

Sweat, warm wetness.

Pushing through.

Resistance.

Momentum.

Breathless butterflies.

Connected solely through electric fingertips.

Fingerprints intermingle, DNA altered.

Traveling towards the event horizon, no reset.

Skillful ravaging.

Contentment.

Certain.

Invasive intimacy.

Waves, waves, waves.

Eyes locked.

Final approach.

Hushed encouragements increase the urgency.

Swollen to a point of burst.

A civilization in its ascendency and decline, in one moment.

Palms slapping the top sheet.

Final advances assured.

Bucking.

Thrashing.

Grinding.

No stopping the launch sequence.

Liftoff.

Traveling up into and becoming one with the atmosphere.

Eventually escaping gravity, and floating.

Floating…floating.

A sweet reverie, wrapped in languid limbs and surrendered kisses.

An expanding universe that ends and begins in the loins of lovers searching for meaning.

“Inhibited”

img_1985-1

“Tundra” © C.P. Hickey 2017

 

 

 

“Inhibited”

All of the words.

An expressive and bitter, “No!”

A sigh.

A wrinkled nose, from unkempt nose hairs.

The minute my hands are involved with dish soap.

Doggie scratching on the door.

The mail carrier ripped important correspondence shoving it into your cast iron mailbox.

Molded plastic breaks when stepped on, and finds soft tissue on a foot sole.

The bus escapes the nearest stop, just as I turn the corner of the driveway.

Gone.

Absent.

Left for life.

Left for dead.

Depot driven.

The long cold walk.

Concrete sprawling out, out, and forever.

The river’s edge.

Depths of frozen sleep.

The sky suffocates my passage.

Doesn’t recognize or care to remember my boot imprints in the snow.

It melts gradually, and meets the sewer grate for the trip to the harbor.

Halfway house spectacles line the corridor leading to transit.

Coffee and cigarettes substitute for harder gravities.

My hardship brethren walking the walk.

Life is hard for all.

It’s hard to set parameters for yourself, when they’ve already been set well in advance of your arrival to this fucking circus.