- Erotic Poetry
- Hand/Shake
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You came back for your glasses,
I wanted to be nice.
curly, brown hair-
rail thin and twenty one.
One of many in my harem of ghosts,
I had pulled you to the front before
without your consent or a name.
Your hard nipples under a summer-dust, rail thin shirt.
My hand, in commitment to your image
and without name or consent,
summons something, more breath-taking than inspiration-
a warm, white liquid, dripping onto the bedroom floor;
And now a handshake and a name.
And a fierce, first look in the eyes,
An understanding that you've thought the same-
while dripping onto the bedroom floor.
Your hand, firm in mine
your confidence is offsetting
curly, brown hair
perky nipples and no bra.
Is this the hand you hold yourself with?- I wonder.
Oh, but mine is the one you'll imagine...
firmly on your chest, or
rubbing raw into your cleft
while dripping onto the bedroom floor.
Your ghost, now with name and consent,
haunts me early; fucking my bed-
while I see the fingers I held
push into you a little deeper.
