underheld
A shadow crossed the room
in the corner of my awareness
A cloud outside somewhere, probably,
but for an instant, I thought that motion was you.
Thoughts of you are casually intrusive.
Maybe you’d crawled into my luggage - and hidden.
There’s a complex birthday candle wish.
Desire owes no deference to logic
When I think of you, my tummy becomes warm satin and I know,
that in your hands, I could be boneless and lusciously obedient.
For a while, anyway.
I remember us at the beach, lounging in deep parasol shade,
how your tanned skin glistened with tiny beads of sweat
and your endless legs stretched out like a centerfold’s.
Or you pulling me up out of the pool, one-handed, effortlessly,
with enough force that I briefly flew, and how you’d gently guide me down.
“What are you doing?” I’m virtually slapped out of my erotic fantasy, by Lisa, who’s standing, exasperated, sandaled toes tapping, purse in hand.
“Daydreaming,” I answered weakly, as I jumped up to get myself ready.
Has it only been four days since I left you?
I already feel tragically underheld.
.
.
A song for this:
Ain't it a shame by The B-52s
Locked Inside by Janelle Monáe
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