i want to kiss the stranger in the park

a poem

Pierre Feuillette and Paulette Vielhomme kissing at café Chez Moineau, Photograph by Ed van der Elsken, Paris, 1953.

he leans against a wall, brick,
eyes closed, headphones in,
one leg bent, the other rests in front of him
while all around, people bustling.
i float toward the stranger,
pull lip balm from my pocket, strawberry,
crouch down beside him.
he doesn’t open his eyes
but i feel him feeling heat as i
steady myself with one hand on his shoulder,
swing one leg over his waist,
wrap myself around him, sink hips
into wanting crevice.
face to face.

his eyes peel open, pierce mine,
ask that i lean into him.
breath deepens, bellies touch,
chests rise, press into each other,
his hands hold the base of my spine,
the nape of my neck, his gaze into
the center of me. lick lips,
i fall into his grip slower than slow,
timeless moment, hovering between
worlds, weightless enlightenment,
here my heart beats, faster and slower.
he smells like wood, hand fits
precisely into the space between my shoulder blades.
i melt like i’ve never felt safe in my
whole life until now. here. an inch from my lips,
he asks me to open, noses
touching, breath again, deeper, rooted,
pulse into him, hips press into hips, head falls back,
fingers through hair, blood rushes into thumb
curling round neck, inviting
the kiss. the kiss. space between
lips, throbbing, flushed pink, swelling,
inhale as though i’ve just emerged from
deep ocean i want to absorb this stranger.
magnetic lips, neck squeezed ever so gently
with warming fingers we breathe.

thank you for reading, lover. make love, make art, be hot is where you are invited to fall in love with the rhythm of your being through the erotic playground of inner alchemy.

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