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.