Allister...

...is my friend who writes poetry. This is a test. This is only a test.

Lustful Synapses

I have empted the bin

that barely had

enough room

I could squeeze in

beside your screams

hardly knew

that you could speak

outside of saw blades

against my nerves

it’s the crackle

snap

or the crunch,

and sometimes

sluck, sluck, sluck.

oh shit

did we touch?

I can’t remember

Did you impress my sensation rod?

I cherish the ones that can

there is a podium where they all

wait to be visited

sitting cross-legged

holding themselves

small so more can

be slushed onto the center

reinvoked a lustful steam

of memory flashy

and back to intensity

of sensation

the outward upsurge

of stiffing

that is a recall to moment

both tingling and exuberant

the crackle of our synapses

snap of the bed springs

the crunch of foil

and the sluck, sluck, sluck

of one entering another