Black Olive Appetency

 

I cannot love you gently.

There is midnight in my blood, thunder

in my veins,

intimacies that resemble sunlight

and a sky that weeps in rain.

Tell me what you ache for, as sweet

surrender

of a flame to the waiting wick,

I am fluent in ardor,

I don't believe in keeping intensity in check.

Outside the city is restless, it's

forged in pink profanities and promises

that half deliver—

in the geography of your body,

my longing becomes a river. 

I am not interested in desire that is afraid. 

Before me, black olives gleam like

appetency—

dark, salt-bitten and ripened into want;

a hunger sharp enough to savor,

earthy enough to make the mouth ask twice. 

Meet me halfway, and I will tell you why

olives taste sweeter after salt.

I wear love like moonlight in arteries, 

offer peace

that heart sustains—

I was raised on simple soft flatbread,

I will lose myself

in you and not complain. 

Such a little thing—

skin against skin,

the faint collision of two living silences,

allow me to kiss parts of you

that sorrow stains,

I cannot love you gently—

even the stars

would envy what our darkness contains.

Your tousled hair and stormy eyes,

alluring to the point

that even shadows grow curious,

is a feeling I cannot name—

I am both brazen and reticent,

I would choose your twilight

over a thousand mountain prairies. 

Is it insane to want you 

so much

that restraint begins to feel like a lie?

How many nights 

must I dream of your lips

before I dare to make them mine?

I cannot love you gently—

there is midnight in my blood, thunder 

in my veins, 

intimacies that resemble sunlight 

and a sky that weeps in rain.

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OLN #418 (and dVerse Live) on Saturday. Thank you for your kind comments and visits.