Mike Bell/ November 27, 2016/ www.mikebellpoems.com/ 0 comments

He’s thinking too late,
slightly pissed before bed,
stiff and undressed
into cooled nakedness:

He will make you stand,
your eyes turned east,
you will face from him,
as he drops to his knees:

There your reduction,
him a flesh-bare thug,
as you stand blinded,
and his heart binds hard:

Your white legs splayed,
by his too-sure grip
pushing you open,
to find a fit in your hips.

Share this Post

Leave a ReplyCancel reply