Collaboration with Jonatan Asbjørn Allin
My words are indented
I’m ready to be used, you said;
but you’ve no clue what I could do
to you if you let me.
It isn’t a matter of control,
a matter of fact, a sense of the matter;
it’s the thrill of losing them all.
Will you declare the same
when I gain the bend of your thoughts,
or take your latest hours for myself?
The turns you take yourself
lead you down predictable roads;
I choose to close my eyes.
I want your hands, your mouth—
not your eyes, or even your concern;
just the weight of you over me.
Let’s draw the blinds and see
what primal tongues our bodies choir
in the cosmos of the dark.