Pre

 

Pre

Rather sticky

and moist

in the palm of one's hand

moments after it lingers

in strands

between the fingers.

The indicative dead ringer.

Harbinger of a delicate sensation.

Bringer of evident anticipation

hard to hide as it glides

from desire to intention.

Rather slick

and viscous.

Free flowing and profuse.

Flung like a discus

from the mind

to the line of the zipper

as thoughts delivered are discussed.

Hardly discreet,

this secretion

borne of an intensity replete

with secrets so perverse

are only ever dispersed

in passionate conversing.

Brief trips rehearsing between messages

elicit the slow drip

between crevasses

that even a firm grip

can't seem to cease.

Preemptive pleasurable

unnerving release

ever emerging from the tip

or from one's lips to another

inciting and inviting

to one willing to

sloppily smother and smear

smooth and clear over the face

or gently erased in haste

on one's tongue

down one's throat

to savor the distinct flavor

and steal a small taste

of what delectable dew

with a measured pace

will rush out warm and new

from the edge until subdued.

Devin Joseph Metz

1.30.21

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dopamine

 

Dopamine

I feel like I need to come clean.

The need is obscene

and mine exclusively.

I need to believe 

that it’s not me

when you tell me it isn’t.

I want thoughts less conditioned

to panic

than I’ve allowed myself

a portion of.

I want to know that love

isn’t the only comfort

that I can afford.

I’d like to be bored

instead of in a constant

state of stress and fatigue.

It would be nice to have needs

that can be wants most of the time.

I would love to say “I’m fine”

and believe it to be so

instead of a mantra between breaths

as I try to let things go.

Things I already know

shouldn’t be foreign.

I give what I have

and feel bad when 

there’s nothing left for me to pour in.

I kind of know what 

but I never know when

except when I create it

long before it becomes real

and that “real?”

Well,

let’s just say

that my thoughts have made me feel

what my body only flinches for:

Writhing on the floor

yet I’m inches from the door

that I’ve repeatedly opened

before

but somehow convinced myself

I no longer have the key to.

Would it be too much

to have a peace that I can touch

and truly believe that it will stay?

Is it a mouthful to say

that I cry just as much

when I pray

as I do when I’m afraid

most of the day?

Is it not meant to be easy

to abstain from a bite

when I’m queasy

and also refute the thoughts

that brought me there?

Is that not fair?

Do you not care to ponder?

Do you even wonder?

I need to come clean.

Relieve myself.

Receive my wealth.

Believe my health is everlasting.

I need to come clean

across the surface

with the purpose and passion

that follows hours of satisfaction.

I need to come clean

and gain the knowledge that endures

of knowing that just because it’s dirty,

that doesn’t mean that it isn’t pure.

I am assured that my feelings

will not always be subject to protection

but when I can’t meddle with such lessons,

can I please just have the injection?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Devin Joseph Metz

1.27.21