untitled second attempt at in class excercise

The night you seeped beneath my skin

I could feel your calloused hands scratching to dig inside.

Strangely showing careful and deliberate tenderness

Restraining the aggressive necessity that throbbed through your veins.

Your calculations were key

Yet you second guessed every move

Like a well studied schoolboy

Fumbling the oral presentation

So your tongue danced a distraction

As the muscles at the base of your spine froze to stone.

Apparently, I’m your medusa, your kryptonite, your luscious poison apple.

I don’t mean to frighten you so

But please let go of your unrelenting judgment

And experience joy with ease for once.

Just this once.

With a stroke of your ink-stained fingertips

Down my arched back I understand your intention is to record

All of me for your next writing session

You’re reveling in the poetic contradictions of this restraint.

I am fuel for your next monologue.

A scenario for a love scene

That will romantically play out better than this.

You’re the Playman, trying to be the Birdman

Memorizing every noise I make to compile

Your opus.

I shouldn’t complain because you’re soft and attentive

But not all for my pleasure, because behind your cavernous eyes

Lies perfection and pain you try to maintain for The Art.

Even at this beginning you’re lying to me and you deceive yourself.

But one part of you knows the truth

And calls you on your shit

As hardened muscles release, refusing to submit.

So I take the blame and ask to stop

To save you the confession of the disappointment you’ve caused.

I roll to my side

And the nausea sets in.

Not guilty for sins before God, or mom or anyone but myself.

Just aware that my Orpheus has looked back too many times,

Leaving me vanished as dust in his arms

To exist only in the grainy, black ink

That stains the pages of your notebook.