It’s Wednesday.
Thank God.
Live for this all week.
For these fragile fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes!
Not enough.
Can’t we make up a reason?
Please say you’re not busy today.
Mommy circle.
So lame.
Kill me.
How did I end up here?
Thank God I ended up here.
But you.
Where do you fit in?
My God, you smell good.
I could die in the presence of your scent.
Those tendrils.
Those dancing, seductive tendrils.
Refusing to be tamed.
Are you tamed?
Am I?
Are we who we say we are?
Mommy circle name tags.
Put me out of my misery.
Just kidding.
But really.
Where can we ditch these kids?
All I want.
All week, it’s all I want.
To be alone.
With you.
And that scent.
And those tendrils.
I want to surf the tides between your thighs.
Ride into shore down your sweet, long,
Buttermilk legs.
I want to croon my lips around your neck
Like a glider plane coming in for a
Gentle landing.
I will be so gentle with you.
Tender, you need it.
And so do I.
I would be content just drawing the perfect
Snowy mounds of your body.
Afraid to photograph in fear of
Taking anything away from
The perfect picture
That is
Be mine.
Be with me.
I’m so desperate.
I choke on my words around you.
Would you like a cup of coffee?
How’s the weather?
I don’t want to speak.
I want to show you how I feel
With my lips, my hands, my body.
I want your body to respond to me
Like it hasn’t responded
To anyone
Or anything
I peer out from my stone tower.
Like a buzzard I watch the hasty sliding of the glass
The library door
On any day but Wednesday,
Is no doorway to me.
The fake air blasts through the vents
To keep me awake during
This gray mist of life.
Color my world.
I will color your breast with my touch
You will flush like the breaking of daylight
You will ripen like berries in summer
I want to be there
To harvest
To taste your sweet wine.
You may close your eyes if you like
Focus on the sensation,
Forget about the world.
The world is only the space between the foot of the bed and
Those sweet dancing,