My Fingers In Your Hair

Certain

Still and amused as I sit there

Flush with the burden of purpose

Worn with a grace which

Verges on the irrational self-confident

But the glint in my eyes

Stays even as we talk about the world

And its discontents

Always wanting to take you

Fill you with every last drop of me

Hold you down and fuck the light

Back into you

Because for all my poetry

Those fingers wound in the hair

On the back of your head

They speak plain and firm

And if my kisses

Make you shudder like

You’re possessed

Then I am the possessing spirit

And its exorcism

All this,

Mine

As you are

As am I