Ode to a One Night Stand

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laying in bed at night,
eyes closed,
wet brush of fingers on my still trembling thigh
my thoughts flicker and land on you

I'm writing you a poem
although you'll never hear it
(although I can't say I'm sorry for that)

this is an ode to my one night stand

it might be a sonnet
if I were the kind of girl who could be bothered remembering how iambic pentameter works
but fuck that
let's have our poetry like we had our sex

poorly planned but executed with enthusiasm
and besides
our rhythm was more cummings than Shakespeare anyway.

wild unbroken stanzas of pure lust, line breaks where
we
came
up
for
air
not because form dictates.

Why a poem for a one night stand?

Because "do you always get so fucking wet?" sounds lyrical to me.

our stifled moans,
the rhythmic slap of our bodies,
the way my thighs ached for days like music,
more like Johnny Cash than Orpheus.  

this is a poem about the way you
tugged my legs over your shoulders
 and fell on me
like you couldn't keep your mouth off of me for a second longer,
like you were a man dying of thirst
 and the slick shimmering wetness between my legs
was your last hope of an oasis.

this is a poem for when I looked at the clock
harsh neon lines telling me I had to be at work in 40 minutes
and I begged you to come
and staring down at me, you replied
"I want to feel you come around me one more time."
The sweetest refrain of all.

it's a poem for the bruise on my hand
where I bit myself as I squirmed beneath you
and complied,
surprising even myself as I came
so hard
I showered your shaft in wetness.  

this poem is in memory of
the green thong we couldn't take the time
to tug free from the tangle of our legs
so you just shifted it to the side
as you slid your fingers up my dress
in a house full of noisy people.

the mess I made in that thong,
and the mess I cleaned up with it
after I begged you to come on my stomach
will come clean in the wash
but its reputation is ruined now.

this is a poem about how I kissed your chest
feeling you murmur against my hair
how incredible it was
how I don't know
how I can't know
(how incredible I am)
before I
sprinted for my car
and left a few things behind.  
 a sleepy, satisfied, awed man  
a little dignity
and a wet spot
 

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4 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousalmost 13 years ago
LOVED IT!

As a woman who has "been there" I feel the authenticity of your writing, and it is beautiful in it's truth, no matter the subject, this is real, this is beauty. Also I have downloaded 3 of your books so far to my Kindle and I am definitely a FAN!!!

despotlewinterdespotlewinteralmost 13 years agoAuthor
D'oh!

Thank you for pointing that out! I can't believe I didn't notice it!

GuiltyPleasureGuiltyPleasurealmost 13 years ago
There's.....

.......too much information here but glimmers of greater things. The last stanza would be just fine all on its own. Cut all the messy green things and the border line porn but save that last verse. It might have been 5 if you'd just submitted that alone....

Tess

theognistheognisalmost 13 years ago
*****

Interesting poem, and a five, but the first line should be:

lying in bed at night,