Here's this week's www.textsfromlastnight.com poem.
Here’s what I didn’t do:
Park the Saturn atop some
Cliffside, mountainous overlook.
Have my shirt prepped with two loose buttons
-
sprig of chest hair winking out of the seams.
Stretch and drape my arm around her milky shoulders.
I didn’t do this.
We were pretty wired from watching the play,
Nestled shoulder to shoulder.
A few fingers grazed here and there, shifting a program,
Adjusting a coat.
And now, at this point,
Talking. Offering
dissenting takes on Restoration Comedy.
She, wicked and clever, and peppered with salty speech.
My id struck, as I was clearly losing the battle of wits.
I tickled her. Her
body lurched and shuddered as she giggled.
Suddenly, her cheek cradled my lips and my right hand
Cupped her breast. An accident, both.
Yet, in that moment. We collectively inhaled and accepted.
She took my other hand, demanded symmetry.
I nibbled softly on her quickly reddening cheek, turned,
And found the other, patient and cool to the yielding touch.
Then, at last, we peered, hunger to hunger,
Mouth to mouth.
Ravenous, without words.
Not being clever or droll. Finally speaking.
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