...
His mouth moves like a silent story;
he tastes like salt and wine.
There is no moment of relearning,
of adjusting the patterns of the past three years;
our bodies remember where to go.
He licks my name along the course of my throat.
He presses himself so close to me
that any hurt left on the surface between us spreads thin,
becomes a binding instead of a boundary.
Maybe there are entire worlds where there are no fences,
where feeling bears you
like a tide.
...
k.e & r.t
you guys are my angels
....
and that other guy
c.r