8/01/2016: Breathe In, Breathe Out

(First freeform poem of the year that doesn’t suck balls! Yay! …and it’s also suggestive. Deeply suggestive. It’s about sex is what I’m saying. So it’s behind a cut. Also, I know some people are gonna look askance at the ‘well’ line – there is a reason for it. No, you don’t get to know it.)

(Bribe me with chocolate, then we’ll talk.)

When they first start,

All she counts is the rise and fall

Of his chest,

The sound in her ears like the whooping

Of the sea on the rocks

Of a beach by a ruined château

In a country far from here

(The past?

France?

It doesn’t matter.)

And her own breaths a tiny

Hummingbirds flutter beneath it.

 

Time passes,

And she stops counting the number of

Times they –

Well –

Now, instead, she counts her teeth in his

Skin, or the brush of his lips on her

Cheek, as he tries not to vanish into

White-hot nothing underneath her nails.

 

He trembles, after, and sadness

Engulfs her, as if the moments after

Were a hangover from a raucous

Party. He calls it a sulk and makes her

Laugh.

 

And suddenly,

Everything is all right again,

And the smile she feels against her cheek

Puts all the silk of India to shame.

 

Follow the road of his smile

Up to the freckles on his cheeks,

The curl of his ear,

The blazing sunset of his hair,

And back down to the kiss of his mouth;

And then darkness,

The purr of his exhausted breath in her hair,

And sleep.

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