Sensual Memories
I reside often in the backside of my mind
Loitering in lust
A restoration
Memories, most forgotten, reflective upon
Replayed games
I watch again
Shifting back
Backpedaling
Strings of light reverberating
Feeling
The hum of rhythm translated from mind to hand to
Fingertips you can drag along spines and shoulders and pause
Feel vibration in the softest places between skin
The shift of air between bodies, slower
I give my body rest
But my mind is tangled on the idea of play
We need the illusion that this body works for something
To bring meaning to motion and fluidity to thought
We need space
Airy and lucid
Followed past the point of reason
Find escape in brushes of skin
Flashbacks of backs arched
Running out of breath and feeling thankful
In inhaling exhaustion
Exhaling relief of remembrance
And the floor is under
My body again
No longer floating
No longer the pace of going
Suspense broken
Sometimes escape catches me
In perfectly timed rhythm
In suspended thought
In the gasp of gaze unintentioned
Of condensation dripping down cold glasses
In seeing hands work in the various motions they were designed to do
Fingers reflective of mischief
Meek manners and sly
I am finding timing
Placing seconds back on palms
Folding them tightly, tucked for longer
Of placing hands to sides
Ignoring the itch that says “feed me”
We say not now
I am twisting back the urge to become undone
To slink away
Wander headfirst through old footing
Playing the game of placing myself back
Stop motion memories
Sensualities I can enjoy for a second
Before being whisked to the next
Frantically re enjoying
All I longed to enjoy while there
Soaking up the wisps of nights spent
We were
We are
We will be
My mind is playing with these tenses
With moving self back
In replaying
Replayed
In floating
In falling back to my body again
Wishing I never left
In wishing I stayed, in body
In moment
In wandering from time to time to time
And slowly
I am picking up limbs
Trying them each on for size
Discovering range of motion
In rolling joints
In collapsing
I am losing myself in old places
In brushing up to the familiarity of skin
In vivid
Color pallets teasing on my eyelids
Soft fabric, hard lips and waiting minds
Bodies left wound
Tight,
Bound mouths and fresh sounds
I am enjoying watching your lips move
Speaking words they always intended to
Withering meaning through forecasted ideas
And i am thinking about
Twisting each one
In watching a level of surprise
I am thinking forward
Of spinning
Of webbing to-be here
In the same way i have always brought
You back.