chamucos

Honeysuckle Pollen

The next day I could still smell her on my hands
warm & sweet.
Lining the valleys of my fingertips,
hidden & moist in the caves beneath my fingernails.

I held my hands folded in front of my face in mock attention
to a friends amblings.
The background noise of scent-sense memories.
While he spoke I breathed her in,
humid & sultry with the sweat of cupped hands.
My interlaced fingers teased with images of
entwined legs, wrapping arms
Wrestling, kissing backs.

These digited claws transform into the undulating currents of her dear fleshiness.
The musk salt of permeations transform the cave of my grasp into
the weeping hollow of her nothing & everythingness.
My tongue barely parts my lips,
impeded by scraping ivory monsters and thoughts
of stifling reserve.

Warm perfume ghosts,
like opiates pour through my longings with each inhalation
of tart caked essence.
Id swoon, eyes closed and falling,
but how would one explain such a display in public?
How could anyone understand the reasoning of
I smell her?
Perhaps theyd concede and their own memories would snap on with the
essences of Givenchy & Alsacean Riesling.
Perhaps Id be excused for my musings with
knowing glances and shy smiles.
Go on theyd say,
Go on and breath....

Dance,
dance pungent mists like fingers treading on softest skin.
Caress my being with your opium smoke of pleasures past.
Breath deep and pass me sweetly from
fleshy coils into a floating realm
of sweet honeysuckle pollen winds

All to soon
the heavy spell is broken by the annoyed summons of the
annoying friend Ive kept company through feined listening.
A violent snap into the material realm
devoid of dream.

Eyes wide open,
her scent escapes from unclasped hands onto the breeze,
visions of her smell, our touch, tossed away,
out of my thoughts
like sheets of soft paper swept across an abandoned wooden floor
and into a closet of sub-consciousness by
abrupt winds of awakenness,
only to be exhumed by the fresh smells of her
& our new experiences.

Awake in the physical realm,
hands return to being hands,
but for the duration of this dream,
they were her.


by me.

I wrote this for the one I wish loved me too. I tried my best, gave it my all, she just wanted to be friends.