Expectation
The thought of him
had been sitting in that smoky corner of the room
in her mind
For months.
Framed in bad lighting
and burlesque music.
The thought of him had been
beckoning.
Furiously.
Beckoning.
She had also been waiting;
to wrap her mind
around him
considering ways
in which the idea of him could
Slip inside her.
And gentle though she wanted the
thought of him to enter her,
she’d let him linger there too long
not to let her mind be thrust upon him.
She’d been forging a
coming together
out of whispers and air.
Out of imagined partitions and positions of flesh and
long anticipated twitches of satisfaction.
A forbidden patience that wept like a wound
and wound tight around the thought;
Of him
waiting.
In that corner.
Waiting to be
wanted.
Wanting to be
worn out.
Wearing out
her wisdom
and resolve.
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