Contriction

You drag your heavy hands across my chest

to solicit a sort of restriction in my airways.

The skin feels scraped by the easiness in your

calloused palms.

As my body struggles to rise from a great expansion

of my lungs, the fidelity our breaths share is ominous.

Our exhale are those of pestilence.

Our movements are malevolence.

There's that puncturing silence when

your cigarette touches your lips,

there's an envy in the air

when I hear the smoke reach your

lungs before I do.

Like the ash & the embers that fall on your skin,

I want a touch to be relaxed and unplanned.

I feel a fever in your voice when i hear the 

involuntary, "i love you,"

escape from your lips.

How much more in depth do I need to go

to get more than a few words to break from the

cavity in your chest.

To ease the uncontrollable secretion of lust

that drips from your chin.

Its a grimy color of rust.

Melting away the very scream that sounds 

emaciated when pressures applied

to my very throat.

Writhe my body into knots and shatter the 

spine when you enshroud a simple physique.

But I'll marvel this ungainly attention

for an honest impression 

of your hand.

& I need your fingers to drag an intricate

pattern and decorate your

benevolences in a book and bind 

it with a red ribbon so you'll

never forget.

As my back bruises,

I lay engaged in guessing, 

but not a syllable expressing.

The love that I love insufferably,

is insufficient at times due to lack of

doubtful melancholy.

When your tongue is sore and twisted

from the words that I spit,

its desecrated.

Defiled and perverted.

Unseeingly beautiful adulation.

I'll canonize how rough the tones 

of your voice gets when we subdue

the sounds manifesting from our skins.

I'll cling to every word that you say

in allegiance to every utterance 

and locution that orchestrated 

from the seams of your gullet.

My deepest condolences to

what could have been,

my most affectionate admiration

to my fractious sentiment.