From our lips unformed conversations
linger like shadows cast by lampposts along
the stretch of an otherwise dark, empty street.
A lot of theories could be formed
as to why it rained louder than radio static,
as to why we did not even bring
a single umbrella to share.
So we huddled closer, arms touching
lips mouthing maybe, maybe
this is how we build up the tolerance threshold
for another’s presence. In this dalliance discreet,
while wrapping your lips with wetness, I
wrote hymns of praises in my head,
words held under breath, and you did the same.
We practically kissed —
forget breathing, our pulses were so in sync.
We made lamplights go flickering first
and shattered them second, this silent sex rivalling
Olympus-bellows crafting lightning tides;
in the pitch-black dark, we were high-voltage spotlights.
And I wanted. I want more of
your broken flickerspark, you
Lovecraftian spawn of
Coax me to dangers, I’ll follow you willingly;
I will stand with you amidst even Jupiter’s eye.
— A. P.