 |
| Copyright Candice Holdorf |
Cool raindrops on my window.
A liquid warmth insulates
The soft Sunday morning
(The grey skies
A cozy backdrop
For our scene)
My bare right thigh
Rests on your pajama-ed leg.
My right hand slipped
Under your left
As my palm inhales
The heat from your ribs.
You hover on the edge
Of a waking snooze.
A soft snore rises
From your throat.
A moment frozen
With desire.
This could go in any direction.
On the one hand,
I hate to disturb your sweet surrender,
Like a nostalgic portrait
Studied by professors
And glanced over by disinterested tourists
As they rush through the gallery.
On the other hand,
I want nothing more than to feel
Your lips brush the side of my neck.
Your entire fist slowly twisting inside me.
Your coarse fingers mash my left breast,
Squeeze out my nipple and tug with your teeth.
Another soft snore.
A resigned sigh.
I pull my hand out from your shirt
In one, cottony stroke.
Unraveling from you,
I tiptoe to the door
Turning in time
To see your lazy smile
And half-opened eyes.
“I’ll let you get some rest,”
I whisper, as the door firmly latches
Behind my back.
No comments:
Post a Comment