Monday, August 16, 2010


Formica table top.
Bed and chairs and stairs.
Mine and yours.
Sweet whispers and slow talking.
One hand up, one leg down.
Stroking, smelling, licking.
I know, you want.
Labored breathings.
Movements, jerking.
Red-faced, short beats.
Racing pulse.
Curling toes.
You know, I want.
Stop, I have doubts.
Maybe, I don’t know.
How would I know?
Do you know?
Can you tell me?
Perhaps, another time.
This time, I want it.
So do you.
Let’s go.
There is nothing self-righteous about what we do.
Just do it.
Right or wrong?
Well, this just feels right.
Don’t forsake me now.
Don’t leave now.
I know you will someday.
But not now.
Because I need your warmth to cool me off.

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