Wednesday, February 25, 2009


Think of this as really prolonged foreplay,
foreplay that will never come to fruition.
We won't see each other anymore we say; we probably won't.
His order becomes disorderly when we speak even on the phone. And mine too I must admit.
When he calls, it is
New Year's Eve
Three Kings' Day
my birthday
freakin' Mardi Gras.
I listen, pressing the phone receiver as close as humanly possible to my ear
- my hot little ear that delights in the sound of his laugh, breath, and murmurs about how we shouldn't even converse; it is a type of intercourse, after all.
His voice like phantom fingers on my naked skin but not.
It is a slow deep seduction strung along with careless words at moments of thinking out loud without regard to having regard for those who might not be as delighted in our play.
This talk, the gaze when we sit across from one another, the carefully constructed missives to write about desire while impressing each other with our use of language
We stop to begin again
a vision of him as he pulls hard on the door handle, swinging it open to make room for his entrance into a moment of my life, the sky swirls above me, my voice lowers an octave and the vibrations cause some ruminations down below

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