Riding waves of smoke.
Moving toward knowing which way
This now is headed.
Apparently toward,
My right earlobe, scenes your
Inquisitive eyes.
With ink and color
You trace the present moment.
Which happens to be
Me. I sit beside
You. And forget where I am.
Though I never leave.
But in that moment,
I’m thinking of my lover
And when I drew them.
Thinking of their chest
How it holds my hips and ass
And flexes with each
Thrust. But I was lost.
My mind fled so quickly from
One thought to the next.
From the memory
Of us, artist and model,
Toward the fucking us.
But always the past
Or the future fantasy.
Never simply now.
So I go there, or
Rather I stay here, and now.
_ _ _ _ _
And I find myself,
Alone. Confined to this skin.
And hyper aware,
Of the sensation
Of air and silk and cotton
Against my body.
And these sensations
All fluctuate between pain
And nervous pleasure.