We turn the lights off to find a
way out of ourselves,
becoming small feathers caught
in the midst of the other's storms,
passengers navigating the longings
our bodies have learned to transmit
as wordless signals.
Cues and signs that are delivered through hushes and racing pulses,
through heat and helpless sighs.
There's a language to your skin and breath that cannot be memorized,
subtle changes in the dialect are revealed each time,
a tongue evolving each time my lips grave your navel and move lower,
each time you unfold to let me taste paradise.
Each time you shake and whisper my name like no one else ever will.
We turn the lights off to crawl out of ourselves,
and always know how to find the other in the dark,
becoming small feathers caught in the other's hungry whirlwind,
passengers navigating every inch of bodies that have learned to translate
exactly how to unfold and explore
when they long, beg to be
hushed and made helpless,
be overwhelmed and stilled while
melting inside and for each other.
There's a language inside you that is not meant to be memorized,
the dialect is one of pure instinct every time we begin,
a tongue evolving when you clench
and squeeze around me,
each time you pulse to make me erupt.
Each time I shake and whisper your
name in ways no one else ever will.
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<a href="https://www.lushstories.com/stories/erotic-poems/small-feathers.aspx">Small Feathers</a>