lick the sweat of his neck
if love had a sound, this would be that sound. love. love, we would be the band to play it. my ghetto butterfly flew away from me, i wait patiently. by windows and doorsteps, play make believe as my tears pour to my chest. won’t succeed to breathe if not the hear of you. surely there hasn’t never been a shade so blue. a stank attitude, so not mad at you. not a magnitude to encompass the latitude of my love for you. no space or time compatible. what do i have to do. what do i have to do. my friends say i got it bad for you. i do. but there’s nothing in this world i would rather do, but you.
hey, i want to make love to your existence. drenched in the colors of your energy, then masturbate to the memories. i wanna lose myself inside yourself. until you find me, confine me, to the freedom, of your prison. exist in the same space, same time. combine. until your thoughts slow grind with mine.combine. until your thoughts slow grind with mine. combine. until your thoughts slow grind with mine.
my, i want to drink the sweat off your intellect. reflect, and watch your light passion off my neck. caress the sight of your presence with no question. undress, to the nakedness of love, pure love. i want to make love to my soul mate.
i wonder how does it feel to make love to your soul mate. kind of like writing poetry till climax. till the point and place where our space and time match, and we, cross divine paths. tell me would you like that. how would like that. tell me would you like that. now would you like that. tell me would you like that. would you like that. tell me.
i wanna love you more than madly. wrap these legs, around your words. until your speech is straddled deep, gladly. swim the currents of your vibrations. be separate and one. with the same meditation. with the same meditation. this is poetry.
Sølve Sundsbø for L.O.V.E. mag | part 1