Tuesday, 25 June 2013

Reverse Gear

It’s sex in reverse, isn’t it?
Seeing one’s lover wash and dress,
cover what was naked and
sweaty and stained and
pressed tight against you just
moments ago, the
loins you laved veiled by the
panties you nearly tore, the
breasts you sucked so hard now
nestled anew in that flimsy bra, the
stockings so sensually unrolled now
rolled back up sore, stretched legs.

She turns for you to zip up that
dress you unpurled last night to
lick each knurl of her spine, then her
feet find fine shoes, and she gives you the
same hot tongue she gave when you
opened the door she closes,
leaving you with the slowly
evaporating scent of her perfume, her
sex, her warmth still
lingering in the sheets.

Sunday, 23 June 2013


I didn’t think my old bones
could carry you, but your
dark eyes demanded and then
there you were, arms and
legs tight about my torso,
mouth glued to mouth, for like
pumice there isn’t much to you,
what isn’t water is air,
the water draining from you to
moisten me.

Thursday, 13 June 2013

When the Hand Talks Back

Dark eyes hidden in dark hair, her
sculpted scapulae almost meeting,
slim hands full of
balled-up sheet, slender biceps
bunched, calves strained by
tip-toe tension, a trickle of
sweat cascading down her
sharply-defined spine, the
sound of one hand clapping
fading into the hot night as the
perfect rendition of my hand
appears abruptly on her
perfect ass.

Sunday, 2 June 2013

Corridor of Uncertainty

There’s always a dank and
dimly-lit corridor, 
doors marked with
strange symbols designed to
confuse men and women
confused with the heat and
noise and booze and
who could blame her if she
found herself dragged through the
wrong door by someone of the
wrong sex.