His concrete jaw is unshaven
And his rugged eyes are bloodshot,
However imperceptibly.
I wonder how long his wife screamed last night,
Whether he got any sleep,
Though I know the answer as he listlessly
Sucks back the nicotine
And rubs his sore neck absentmindedly.
He runs on strong, black dark-roast
Coffee and adrenaline
From the morning rush.
I swallow room temperature, plastic-flavored water
And I wonder who’s on that absent mind.
He’s hard and introverted but
I want him. Perhaps because
He’s so irrevocably forbidden.
He knows that with a kiss, a taste of his tobacco,
Breathing in his anxiety,
I could soften his edges.
I could melt the stiffness
From his strong, though narrow, shoulders-
My fingers interlaced with his
Pressed up against the cold brick
Of the smoking room.
Slurping his coffee, he envisions
My teeth to his neck, viciously tender
As he calls me “baby”.
His tongue tastes like high stakes.
Cursing under my breath,
I accidentally catch his eye again
And wish he’d show some affection;
I know he’s imagining the feel of my skin
Or wishing he knew how to risk everything,
Just to smell my hair and lick my neck
And slide his hand up my thigh,
Fumbling with zippers and buckles.
Wanting me.
He’s calling me “baby” in his head,
But messing up my name out loud.
We’re one of those classic tragedies.
With the guy who’s so cosmically appealing and
Slices through my confidence
With his intangible significance.
It’s hormonally predictable that I love being alone with him,
Lowering my voice a fraction
To see if he’ll match my volume:
He never does. But his eyes soften
Slightly and I know he’s on the verge
Of getting up and locking his office door-
A shared office, thus making our impending risktaking
So much more heart-racingly obscene-
So that we can ignore rules, break laws.
So that his wife can find a smudge of lipstick on his collar
So that she can shriek at him some more
So that he’ll breathe the secrets
On my neck
Of how her relentless squawking
Drives him to sleep on the sofa.
In the guest house. Or maybe the garage.
All day he wears his wedding band,
His hand weighted by it,
And I overhear him moan of anniversary plans
To some generic colleague who knows nothing
Of his buried passion for me.
He smiles when he speaks. But it’s theatrical.
I feel his gaze lingering lustfully
On the youthful curves of my hips;
The pendant glimmering between my breasts.
His mind flashes to us, steaming –
Me licking sweat from his abdomen
His impulses throbbing and hard;
The rhythmic bounce of my breasts, full and bare
And vulnerable and feminine.
My eyes and closed and my supple lips
Are wrapped around him,
Tongue working feverishly for maximum sensation –
He closes his eyes tightly and shakes his head and rubs his neck
As if it’s pain, but it’s pleasure that he’s fighting.
He succumbs to more visions:
I’m tasting warm stickiness
Then he’s licking and sucking
And lapping up my intimate sweetness.
He fights it the best he can but knows
That it’s inevitable.
He feels it coming on,
Coming fast,
Coming. Right now.
Those flashes morph from sweetly misguided
First-date groping and
Caressing my innocence with his tongue
To peeling off his jeans and
Yanking down my thong;
He nibbles my lips
Getting rock hard and high on this addictive gamble,
Grunting and thrusting the risk deep into me.
Out of fiery desperation he fucks me
In his mind
Licking my nipples, squeezing my breasts
Younger and firmer than his wife’s.
He’s recklessly releasing himself in me.
He screams my name
In his head
And he gets it right. And
He calls me “baby”
And he says “I love you”
And with heavy- breathing self-satisfaction,
I let him fuck me.
And for this moment he doesn’t care
About cholesterol or thinning hair or the mortgage
Or that I’m 17,
Because he loves me and I’m exploding with hot, sinful and intense ecstasy.
His desire for me is obscene and relentless
Like a poem that doesn’t know how to end.
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Submission Name: For Dan
