031510t...What Are We There For Poem by Manonton Dalan

you run
your fingers on my bruises
it hurts feeling your warmth
snagging the raw skin, red
fluid drying mix with dust
easing my feeling of lust

i run
my thumb against your lips
you want to say something
and i resist with sweet kiss
i got your finger's painful pinch
i endure pretend not to flinch

we embrace
to sweet whistling melody of the pines
i can smell your hair, a sun soak cotton
we were welcome by squeaking spring
in concert with loose hinge swinging door
they are muffled except what we are there for