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she …

stood on tiptoe ...
her hair knot, now unpinned, softly burst
tawny, gold-streaked tresses
tumbling down her shapely form
coming to sassy rest upon her rounded backside
and on the cool of his hand 'bout her waist
his deft index and middle fingers
twirled her tanzanite and rhenium hair pin
pinky finger tugging suggestively
at her patent leather belt
while his other hand attended to
the buttons of her blouse
its soft cashmere sliding off her softer shoulders
(like azure slides off a pink sky at dusk) …
she stretched her neck to reach up
her supple chili pepper lips
pressing against cool steel and biofibre
eyes once again searching for
the spark in his -
perfectly-shaped, bright baby blue irises
shuttering with robotic precision -
the coal black pupils reflecting positronic energy
deep in their unnatural recesses …
she loved “him” dearly ... in her way -
had compromised a great deal
just to get here -
to this place of caring-yet-cautiously-cold cooperation
miraculous metal and the fairest flesh
bared and bound to each other …
they were, by all standards,
happy and passionate and vital
yet it was just that - a spark in his eyes -
that she longed for most
that she dreamed of and ever questioned
that she dreaded, deep-down
she might never …

see.







~ 1st Place ~  in the "Strand Select 6, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.

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