Sunday, April 9, 2017

"Rum Before Reisling"

"Rum Before Riesling"

Everything is yours
I don't wanna think anymore
tired of the fight
fed up with the back and forth
close the door and lock me in
would it really be a sin
to make my heart your slave
would it really kill you to just let me in
can we just focus on
what we feel
embrace the moment for
what it is
and let time fall still
like raindrops on a window sill
quiet beats of a love
that seems too real
I don't wanna give up
so hurry with the liquid courage
brown liquor
red cup
filled with promises to make this last forever
never remembering
this moment is all we have
this moment is one we can't get back
hush - I don't wanna talk any more
everything is yours.

Anything I want
except for the daunting.
Your haunting.
Your tossing about.
Flaunt that freedom in front of me
and I will make you want for me
as playful as I am with your desperation
as the mirage in the desert.
Can't tell where one ends hurt
or even where the pain begins.
Grinning when you should grimace,
optimism said you'd win this.
You'd do well to mind your limits.
You've felt each sip.
You've soaked in spirits,
sulking winless sunken shine.
Sharp the itch upon my spine
when you say you've had your time
but still search as if you'll find.
You are bound:
high-strung with nerve
defined by what you may deserve
so how dare you contend with taunt
to give me anything I want?
Who are you?

Who am I?
Who are we?
In our drunken states
too much liquor
can cause blood to rush
and the undoing of zippers
goes down
just a little quicker
than when sober thoughts prevail
when taunting turns to chase tales
of past lives
marked by creamy thighs
that are thick enough to save lives
all the while, we tease the limits
back and forth
teetering on the lines
as I push back into it
fists grab hair by handfuls
just to guide the motions
we've drank enough to fill oceans
and the motions make what we see
a tad bit blurry
but hurry - I don't want to wait any more
what is mine, is yours.

The mind implores
what the heart ignores
but the portions poured
make that struggle unappealing.
A peeling...
appealing, the danger...
anger that strips away
revealing to lips that say
"Fuck It."
I can't duck it anymore.
Done with the chore of brooding.
I'm not proving
anything by not moving
closer to what you know I need.
Perceiving past stints
where your eyes squint in pleasure
felt deep between organs
in angles one could never measure...
Straight. Not mixed.
A little ice.
Let me pour.
I'm done ignoring the signs.
I've taken time
now mine is yours.

Written By: Kiana Donae & Devin Joseph Metz

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