I see his lips close
to her lips
I wait for the embrace,
My imagination running
like a freight train through me,
Carrying all this baggage
I can’t get rid of,
The hard part of him
(whom ever he might be)
easing into the soft places in her,
careful at first,
then more firmly,
rigid in the end and
she,
beneath him crying
out for more.
The same film clip running
over and over.
Is jealousy putting a new face
on him each time,
like that time when
she
brought up that
rapper
to work out something
I could not understand,
thinking she likes it that way,
unattached, a hit and
run driver
that leaves her gasping
and crying out for more,
each time a new face,
a trophy on her counter,
she the head hunter
each man thinks he is
, but gets stuffed and mounted,
and then set free,
to leave her to find another
to work things out with..
No comments:
Post a Comment