as if

tonight, i whimpered your name

as if it belonged to me

as if it were raining outside

and we’d left an old window ajar, the kind

with a splintering oak frame, chipping lead paint

two panes of muted glass, gathering condensation

and our two mouths, finding each other

in the dark, like incomplete constellations

surrendering to one another, just before dawn

having longed for each other, subconsciously

in an otherwise unremarkable sky

you and i

half asleep and half drunk, on the whiskey of proximity

and the distinct scent of interdiction

slumbering defenses melting away, ever so inevitably

dripping in the same frantic path, as the water down the glass

our lips hover with an unsustainable hesitation

as if pleasure were an undiscovered form of paralysis

as if we could resist the destiny

nestled tenderly in our biology

confessing to every crime in dampened sighs

you and i

addictive personalities, infatuated strangers

articulating an obsessive curiosity

by touching the tips of our tongues

and murmuring restlessly about regrets

each kiss more hungry,  we bask in the satisfaction

in the taste we’d been pretending we would never know

our deserving mouths, opening and closing

intoxicated by the sounds of delicate suckling

our body’s humming, like the wings of honey bees

duetted with the deluge of rain

against a metal roof, at 3 a.m.

we clutch each others faces, hopelessly

bottom lips unceremoniously bitten

aching and tugging, indiscriminately

and your inked palms, so greedy

pawing through my hair, gripping

my throat, finally settling in the dimples

above my ass, we feed the urge

to destroy the negative space kept between us

all this time

as if it was all we could manage to do

to warm ourselves from the draft

from an open window during a downpour

tonight, I whimpered your name

as if I belonged to you

as if allegedly was suddenly

an absolute

a. duncan, 2018



© April Duncan,, A Woman is a Poem – Read Her, 2013 – 2018.


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"She would fill endless notebooks with stories about the characters in her life, their impressions, words, friends, lovers, inspirations, fantasies. She spent her days dreaming up worlds where they fit together in visions; the if only, the never again, the someday. Those who knew her best would describe her as a creature with a clear and sometimes painful sense of herself; furious with ideas and convictions, to a point that she frightened love away with discernment and a relentless strength of character."

10 thoughts on “as if

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