# #ink

3 poems

## [nude](https://chromato.graphics/nude)

back then, i saw your body just on screens —  
pinpricks of light transferred across the line.  
soft curves and folds, i felt you in my dreams;  
those pictures, now, are burned into my mind.

and then i touched your silken skin at last,  
traced these lines with red ink until they dripped,  
gripped thighs while kissing slow, then hard & fast,  
embraced to warm the places we had stripped.

but now i’m separated from your touch,  
yearning for the ways we fit, like jigsaw  
pieces you never need to force too much.  
despite it all : _i’m here. i won’t withdraw._

you’re nude before my eyes, no matter where.  
i’ll drink you up and leave them none to spare.

## [poke](https://chromato.graphics/poke)

door opens— am i the fool?  
gloves snap, now i’m playing my role  
unstained steel tray cradles your tools  
you wash me clean, i cede control

you sketch small leaves in purple ink  
i play with you, this is our game  
when it’s all done, what will they think?  
art, artist, work— all share a name

calmly you ask “_ready for stabs?_”  
there’s not a way for me to know  
is this your temple or your lab?  
we share one breath, it’s time to go

your sword and your eyes penetrate  
music and pain blanket my brain  
sometimes we should disregulate  
questions pour out, blood from a vein

hours pass as you make passes  
pricks turn into private pleasure  
when we are through, our flesh collapses  
every mark is made forever

## [atlantic<br>  pacific](https://chromato.graphics/atlantic-pacific)

i often wake three hours before  
your sunrise calls for a response  
logbook already soaked with ink  
we laugh, but even if we could,  
_why constrain our outporings?_

one winter day you ask for  
notes on undersea strings  
aware of both the timbre  
and tempo of these songs  
we start singing together

i fall into an evening rhythm  
talking and yes moaning into  
the phonograph, my head then  
swallowed by the brassy cone  
our voices sound better inside

when you open your ears again  
there’s so much weather to hear :  
wind and rain and quiet calm that  
lasts too long and means too much  
we keep sailing even without a map

true, land divides us more than sea,  
but these two coasts call to us both  
maybe it’s the sirens or the sounds  
of wavecrash against the shore —  
the dangers of unfathomed depths