spilledwoords
“Poetry burns in our hearts with the passionate heat of a lover’s embrace.”
One, Two, Three
― Avodah K. Offit, The Sexual Self
One,
Two,
Three.
You thrust with all your might
then it’s over.
Why the urgency? Don’t give me two minutes
with your fingers twisting at my nipples.
Hell, No!
That wouldn’t do at all nor will a quick
raid on my nether regions.
My GOD,
what do you think I am,
an ATM you slot into and off you withdraw?
I need time, dear lover, to warm up, to get ready,
….exhaust me, as if I’m your last meal – no quickies.
Then we can gossip
about our next door neighbor,
post-mortem the stock market,
argue over your snoring habit
before sleep comes.
Copyright © 2018. SpilledWoords. All rights reserved.
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