Sunday, January 15, 2012

My Habibti



I needed and wanted her.
I lusted, loved and received them both
from between her knees this night
but it was only sexual in style and tension.
It felt better than orgasms and nightly satisfaction
It was fulfillment of a much higher degree
and all we did was speak to each other.
She laid flat on the bed
her back covering its terrible floral print comforter
exposing our motel whereabouts.
The back of her knees hugged the edge loosely
heels swaying in an illusion of slow motion
rarely brushing my ribs.
My knees were turning red
on the ground as I rested my head
between her thighs, right cheek up
so my crooked smile would dig
into the terrible fabric audibly.
Her voice seemed to suck my breath
as I admired the mystery that was her skin.
I said, "You're not going anywhere..."
just to get a rise out of her literally.
Literally enough to see her eyes.
They were all I'd ever seen of her
and I wanted tonight to make no exceptions.
She asserted that, yes, indeed she was going places;
my intentional linguistic misstep.
It threw her off just long enough to get a passionate response
that if deprived of sound I would still understand it
just by the creases of her brow and lids.
But the fix I required was her realization
and attraction to my distraction that caused
her left brow to rise mirroring mine and caused
a stunning Armageddon to pulverize every cell and vessel
willing my surrender because its silence meant
I’d have her forever.

1 comment:

  1. Her name should be Lolita, if you keep writing about her that is.

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