Little me

I’m never prepared for you,

Even when I think I am,

Finding your building, but forgetting

Which button to push,

A novice at my age

Stiff as a soldier marching up your stairs

Melting in your arms,

As to let my fingers take me places

The rest of me needs to go,

I feel so clumsy, so blunt

That bull in a shop of china

Whose any wrong move might bring

The whole house down

I love your look,

Especially the mouth and eyes

Undisguised by makeup

As if you’ve already made love

Or want to,

As you press up against a defenseless me

A me that aches inside and out

Feeling you through thin fabric

My chest against your breasts,

My lips against your

Feeling softness beneath my fingers

I have not felt before,

Me, wanting to be inside of you

Whatever way I can.

But I am never prepared for you

Even when I think I am

Lost in some haze,

Brain freezing over small details,

such as my hand clasping your breast.

I am sixteen again

Copping my first feel

Only it’s your face I see

Even in memory from back then

And it’s your lips I kiss

The old Who song reverberated in me

“Can you see the real me? Can ya?”

I do not feel real, only you do to me.

I feel like I am sculpting you

With each touch,

Creating the breasts under my fingers,

Creating space between your legs

Your low voice moving my hand, my touch,

Directing me to those places

That bring you the most pleasure,

While between my legs,

I rise and fall like the tides

Leaving a residue of salt in the wake of lust

It is all too much to keep track of

To be certain as to what part of you does what

when I touch you,

aching to climb inside of you

when I can only keep my attention focused

on one thing at a time

fingers finding deeper hollows,

holy ground, sacred spaces

to press and encircle,

drawing moans I hope will turn to screams,

me, a terrorist waiting for that final explosion

that ultimate scream,

that burst of joy I can’t take responsibility for

but like a boasting kid brag about in my head

feeling proud about

even though your voice guided my hand

wherever it went

and the little me inside the big me

grateful for the help,

aching to please you, aching to make sure

this all can happen again.

email to Al Sullivan