277: While You Read, by Andrew J. Leggett
(I never did post this, did I? Whoops.)
***
While You Read
For Michael Osman, beloved storkman
I ask you to read aloud from
your book on revolutionaries,
and you oblige me, the gentle
sussurations of your voice
battling the noises of the coffee
shop, so that I don't hear all the
words, and to anchor the ideas
in my mind, I end up focusing
on the movement of your lips:
the chocolate curve forming
the words familiar to you―
communism, hegemony,
anarchism―and the glistening
pink folds of your inner mouth
fumbling over a French phrase
I long to pronounce for you,
feeling dizzy with the desire
to kiss the sensual vowels, the
barely murmured consonants
into your throat.
But instead, I restrain myself
in silence, consoled by the flash
of your white teeth, the caramel
of your skin, your almond eyes,
their creamy brown placed so
firmly, yet demurely, upon
the page, giving me unusual
freedom to study the features
of your face:
caressing the wide curve of
your jaw with my eyes―so
chiseled, yet softened in this
moment with the same youthful
fragility of your small chin,
contrasting with the transparent
flecks in your dark, smoothly
parted hair, which reflect
the fluorescent lighting.
It makes my heart flutter with
both excitement and fear―
you seem so open, so lovely
that I can't help but be drawn
into adoring you, even though
I sense that I am as guilty
as this world in the art of
wearing you down; even though
I know I will never be what
you want or what you need.
*
*
*
(And that's it: that's all I have. I guess I have to go actually write something new now, don't I? :P)
***
While You Read
For Michael Osman, beloved storkman
I ask you to read aloud from
your book on revolutionaries,
and you oblige me, the gentle
sussurations of your voice
battling the noises of the coffee
shop, so that I don't hear all the
words, and to anchor the ideas
in my mind, I end up focusing
on the movement of your lips:
the chocolate curve forming
the words familiar to you―
communism, hegemony,
anarchism―and the glistening
pink folds of your inner mouth
fumbling over a French phrase
I long to pronounce for you,
feeling dizzy with the desire
to kiss the sensual vowels, the
barely murmured consonants
into your throat.
But instead, I restrain myself
in silence, consoled by the flash
of your white teeth, the caramel
of your skin, your almond eyes,
their creamy brown placed so
firmly, yet demurely, upon
the page, giving me unusual
freedom to study the features
of your face:
caressing the wide curve of
your jaw with my eyes―so
chiseled, yet softened in this
moment with the same youthful
fragility of your small chin,
contrasting with the transparent
flecks in your dark, smoothly
parted hair, which reflect
the fluorescent lighting.
It makes my heart flutter with
both excitement and fear―
you seem so open, so lovely
that I can't help but be drawn
into adoring you, even though
I sense that I am as guilty
as this world in the art of
wearing you down; even though
I know I will never be what
you want or what you need.
*
*
*
(And that's it: that's all I have. I guess I have to go actually write something new now, don't I? :P)