Sunday Whirl #359 and 363

 

Her

He speaks and I am diminished.

I dig my hand into my ribs

trying to muffle my heart’s entreaty.

Any minute now I will shed my skin,

my turbulent, brittle terror

and set off across the lawn with a quiet resolve.

Him

I undress you every time we meet.

Your electric blue eyes lower in tandem.

I have no reason to define my lust.

From the cabinet you extract two long stem glasses.

The clock reads 2 minutes shy of midnight.

Her

If I were a boat I would take to the sea,

my weight suspended in a skein of watercolors.

My bones remember your weight

and I know that I should refrain.

Why can’t I refrain?

Him

The bend between your hip and waist, the perfect ratio.

Our bodies twine in greeting, the red wig is a nice touch.

Save your words for when you are face down,

pillow underneath your pelvis, body indecent.

There is no space for love in this equation.

Her

Beneath you I am worn stone-smooth.

We dance across the floor,

eggshells shattering beneath our shoes

and you will not speak of sin or shame.

I know exactly what is in store for us,

what becomes of women who live too long in the shade.

Him

The only promise I ever made

was that I would not be amended by you.

I am exactly the man that I said I was.

Could it be that you are someone else entirely?

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