- Erotic Poetry
- Home Wrecker
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Click hereIn your clean white kitchen
(pressed grey trousers,
change spilling from the pockets,
brass-buckled belt clinking)
we left a trail of
warm and wrinkled fabric,
like muddy footprints
across the cold tile floor.
Over the sink, a clock
(purchased by your wife)
measured each second exactly as it had
since even before I was born,
ticking in rhythm
(watching without judgement)
with our moans and the
creak of the kitchen chair
that soon toppled to the floor,
exhausted by our lust,
redefining the term
'home wrecker'.
- COMMENTS
Anonymousover 20 years agoI think the title is quite apropos. The furniture's getting thrown around in the heat of illicit passion - wrecking the home X 2.
perksover 20 years agoyou need to get the right frosting for your cake, sugah.
Other than that, I really enjoyed it.
