Impertinence

How am I to behave, when the taunt
is what ushers the storm into your brow
and summons the quiet rumble
into your warning to not tempt?
How can I not love
the perilous quiver
of your self-restraint wrenched taut?

Please,
let me wear the pale and shiver
of your tight-clenched knuckles
And share your dread of the dark
uncoiling behind your ribs.

Because I hunger to see
the bare, abhorrent face
of all your freedom
And feel it call
to the stifled thing
moving mercurial
in my gut.

I want to find
what comely horrors
we could become
for each other then.

So if you wish,
ruin me
and then accuse me of mere
impertinence.

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