Comfort

Stained

Plum Lips

Picture them

As I feel

You panting

Against my neck

The sound

Of hunger

I know it well

Play it back

To you

As I turn around

Succumbing

And seducing

Strumming leg

Across your torso

Like a violin,

Music rising up

And holding

At crescendo—

Oh, the places

We’d go

With stringed metaphors—

Tell me,

 Who’s playing who?

 

Pocket

The moment

When honesty

Clutched your thigh

And massaged

My breast

When agonizing

Longing

Held up our sleep,

Two frustrated

Sliding bodies

Fighting

Fierce desires

To fit together

Without words

Or any need

For understanding…

 

Here now

In my banker’s suit

I’ll cache

Any possible truths.