Forbidden Fruition

Sliding hands in,

tendons rippling under his polish olive skin.

Eyes lustful,

unable to pull them away from my mouth.

Strip away the labels, the chronology, the context

and just float.

Exist side by side

absorbing each others’ swollen glands and

delicious structures.

Hidden touch, unobserved by all but us.

Tiny moments bursting with unseen satisfaction.

Forbidden fruition.

A buildup long and slow, piece by piece.

Unescapable mirroring that nurtures a celestial connection,

filling a visceral void in us both.

A mutually understood,

simultaneous emptiness and overflow of

desire, discomfort and disdain.