The afternoon
like used rubber
lost in roll
one in pleasure
the other cold and full
beneath their day clothes
thrown off like wings
she looked nude like a thinner version of herself
lost in angles and jutting hip bones
a little skinnier than his wont
but you know what they say about skinny women?
you can put them on top of your pencil and rotate
sharpening to a point and using until blunt
her smell is on his fingers and in his hair
his mouth aches from kissing her between her legs
she’s showering with the door open
the tiny bones in her spine popping
as she leans into the heat
the steam fogging up frosted windows
he inhales her and his fifth cigarette
simultaneously
it is this
the indistinct
stillness of afterward
sought most of all
when his body is sate and slick with her dew
nothing, not anything, matters
she
will ask for him again with her eyes even after
she has washed him off
it’s the contradiction of
passion
to re-dress only to have them torn off
he traces with his little finger
a selfishness that tells the rest of the world
to go to hell
languidly replaying how
her thin body rose and fell above him
weightless
the sound of her pleasure
pressed against his neck
like vibrations from a train
speeding into station with
oiled momentum
TheFeatheredSleep 
I felt just like a voyeur watching this play out before my eyes! Your word pictures are so vivid. Excellent.
Yes it was a little sexual and I did that to show the weirdness of desire and how it confuses even itself, so the feeling of being a voyeur is so apt! Thank you dear Meg!
the sound of her pleasure
pressed against his neck
like vibrations from a train
speeding into station
I’ve read this twice.
I enjoy the dynamic of your telling of passion.
Clean & dirty. Sensual with words that wooed the imagination into a play of description.
This poem asks the reader again with its words.
The image goes hand in hand with such marvelous piece of art (your word)
Stunning work.
This, I read at a time when I am loathing myself, and it’s just making me ache, with guilt.
Are you starting a poetry version of 50 shades ? 🙂
I think you probably already know that I find the intricacies of this piece so enthralling. You capture my mind so completely with the direction to the senses. Touch smell taste….I love this!!!
Thank you! I have a theory that SMELL is the chemistry that binds us.
this made me laugh so much! I love it! No way by the way! Loathe 50 Shades, but ha ha ha yes I think I’ve had some sex-themed work of late, whatever could it mean!?! 😉
Oh my BEAUTIFUL friend I hate to think of you loathing yourself. If you were my neighbor you would not loathe yourself, we would go out and laugh and make each other feel better, that’s the worst part about isolation we cannot do that, and sometimes it would make all the difference. You are SO talented and lovely, I understanding self-loathing too well and I would not wish it upon anyone. BIG TIGHT HUG my friend. Please know, if you feel this it does not mean it is true, it’s how you feel but not how you are xo
Thank you so much!
I would agree with us. Always a very powerful sense for me. 🙂
😉
A rare sex themed poem from me – glad you liked – I do think the telling of passion is worthy and I liked how you said ‘clean and dirty’ that is great!
Right? I truly think we choose based on smell more than more or less anything else. Even as we don’t know it consciously. People think of smell as ‘good/bad’ and in very obvious terms but there’s a whole undercurrent
Oh good! I presume you know laughter is soooo good for the soul. I only read 50 shades to find out what on earth made him the way he is – and of course the big reveal was right at the end. It got boring very quickly 😦 Are you *delicate ahem* perhaps a little frustrated – in a poeming kind of way, I mean, of course
I’m with Meg, and your ending is SO fucking good
Ah, then I’m happy. Thank you dear friend