as the hostage
i would like to make a few demands of my own.
convention does not rule against this.

i want to wet your mouth with mine,
in a kiss that will take us places
conversation will never visit.

i want the ransom abandoned and the police closing in.

i want to be the vessel
that holds the scent
i inhale from your skin.

i want the high speed car chase.

i want to spend more hours
than the night is allowed to have
with you, naked and overwhelmed.

i want the armed stand-off.

i want to undress you in the sun.

i want snipers in the windows across the street.

i want you to reveal to me
more than all your photographs ever will.

i want the sounds of boots in the hallway.

every bite remembers in my skin
the mouth of your’s, your lips, your teeth,
your tongue plunging like my flesh is cream.

now they whisper
in my neck and chest and arms
when you come close.

i could forget with time and others
but for the reminding i receive
from every point you touched.

they can only remember,
in a chorus of small desires
that you planted and i carry.