wistful dreams of lust

a barefoot parody of sex

you sat barefoot on the rough green blanket of the bed
your hair caught the light of the twirlintine lamp,making it a fiery ball upon your hair
your feet glistened with the sweat of yesterdays lucky strike
wild and sticky like the honeyed feverish sap of an overgrown maple tree
a dull giddy brown not unlike the skin of my thighs
the shadows against your back shrouded in delirious darkness
casting a pale amber shade on the wall behind you,that twirlintine lamp
a white curved piece of porcelain


you picked up charles bukowski
he was lying on the nightable ,sharing it with the twirlintine lamp
full of impotence ,emptiness
a pale blue book that can hardly portray poetry in an accurate way
thick in your fingers, the sheafs of white flipping through the air
the red of your fingernails flipping with it, looking like a pale white body smattered with blood


curling a finger, you called me over to you
a smile of sheer arrogance, a pure shit-eating grin as though you know you will get what you what

my knees bear down on the rough green blanket of the bed
making long,large dark creases,long dark slashes in the skin of a winding toad
my hands kissing the bristly pine green of the blanket, little balls of lint and green fabric poking up at regular intervals, covering the rough blanket with bumps
the nimble light of the lamp reflects off of the small third button of my striped blue shirt


your hand nuzzles the ashen fuzz of my left cheek
ou move forward and our shadows meet on the wall with paint flaking off in large chunks
your lips meet my lips
I could not anticipate your movements
the soft pressing at first
then the slight opening, the pouring of your heated breath into my mouth
the smoothness of your tongue slowly piercing my mouth,carressing the soft glossy insides


your arms reach out and grab my shoulders as if in a desperate attempt to wake me from some unsettling dream
running down my arms, your fingertips stopped in delightful mania at my elbows, ticking them in cloying delight
my wrists, fingering them with a fierce intensity, a craze, an fervor of luscious tendrils
our fingertips touched with a soulful sizzle
entwined, as in prayer
up to my shoulders, you pulled down my blue striped shirt
slowly and sullenly down my shoulders until they are bare and ripe with goosebumps, which you soothe with your ample tongue
passes over my shoulders, in a half circle around my neck, softening the opaque gelatinous bone that protrudes there
and down
between the two round orbs that are my breasts
and downward still
your mouth meets a tangle of wiry hair that soaked in a syrupy sweetness I cant name
down the angled plane of my thighs
stopping at the bend,my knee,sucking on the underdeveloped pallid velvety skin underneath
down more, meeting the dark round mole that graces my calf
down,down,down , greeting the creases of my heel
and licking the straight line that my foot makes until you reach my toes
sly little piggies gone to market

then I look down and see your guileful smile, your arctic blue eyes glinting madly up at me
full of sham,shame, and sincerity


your hands slide across my stomach,skipping over my navel
you press down on me as you pull yourself back up


and I look at your face and suddenly see gaunt, hollow,sunken cheeks
your face paler than ever against the blaze of your hair
long jagged wrinkles around the mouth that once sang and the eyes that once twinkled
that once held stars,white and stark against a midnight sky

your flaming hair,lit by the flame of the bulb in the twirlitine lamp, warms your body, making you hot and wet
or is it I, who’ve made you hot and wet?


you sit back blissfully, leaning against the polished mahogany of the headboard, back to your beautiful self, the long wrinkles in your face nothing but a distant dream