I Am Continued Consistency.

These are words
and I change so much
with this sword.
Just by adding or rearranging,
that is the strange thing.

I perspire as you suspire,
Engaging you olfactorily.
Our day is melting hourly
while you are looking at me sourly.
From a long distance away
I can hear the luscious rain,
when did being decrepit mentally
become accepted exponentially?
Eventually I will show you just how much
you meant to me.
Internally, I am trying to put out a fire.
Externally, air is thick as you seek to inspire-
"Were you born phlegmatic?" You ask.
I know you are wanton in never waiting for an answer.
My hands are placid and you are erratic.
As if called to the stand, jactitations tumble from your mouth
I phase out
imagining my hands on your smooth belly sliding south-
and suddenly I confound in a beguiling serenade,
an attempted covering of your thoughtless folly.
Lust adumbrates your slippery enmity.
My emotion surprises you,
a schism forms in your surmises of me.
I whisper softly, close to you
with the sound of a spate at my back,
a dripping deluge of glory.
About how living with you
is akin to being housed in an asylum,
how I'm your now whilom beau.
And I know you don't understand

You're tender now,
Respondent to my touch.
Your heart is quickening with a different nature.
A nature of summer bulbs opening to the kiss of warm sun.
No longer featureless waves causing turmoil in the sandy beaches.
A nature of pine sap sticky between your young fingers.
No longer noisy eruptions as a fox slips into the fold, amongst the lambs sheltered from the cold.
A nature of protostars, incipit celestial bodies blending, building kinetic heat.
Suddenly a dawning look of hurt and confusion,
the abrasions bloom rosy red on the ego.
You have finally felt that this will be the last.
You have felt the waning insistence of my throbbing axis.
You have felt the waxing regnant urgency.
Know now sex is the tool of your dismissal.

Author's Note

This was written by Ben Lingemann.
Please do not plagiarize, All Rights Reserved.