Dress

That gorgeous dress? The one you

fell in love with through the

closed shop window, couldn’t get

back to for days, amazed it was

still there and it fitted you like a

long, slinky glove but cost

half a month’s salary and a

bad case of conscience? Well it’s

even more gorgeous as it

pools around your high heels,

kicked away into some corner,

forgotten for the next few

unforgettable hours.


 

(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Pornflakes and Coffee

When they awoke he had gone quietly and his

wife’s shy smile answered his first kiss—

“Are we ok?”  “More than ok, ok?”

She snorted, sought his morning wood—

“Can this wait? You boys sure

stretched me last night and….”

rubbing her face “…you both left a

wonderful mess, but now I need a

shower, and coffee please mister!”

He watched her naked beauty

wobble uncertainly to the bathroom,

lay awhile amidst the

still-strong smells, images of the

night as tight a ring about his heart as

that ring he’d put on his wife’s finger and

just as snug, water running, her

happily humming, him brushing

pornflakes from the bed and making coffee.

 

(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

The Bet

The bet was no more than

five minutes before someone

offered to buy her a drink, her

husband watching

his watch.

The bet was no more than

nominal to her after

two births and feeling

dowdy despite the new

mani-pedi.

The bet was no more than

four minutes old when a

man offered and she

shrugged, said yes, accepted

she’d lost.

The bet was no more than

a regret as she laughed and

accepted a second drink, wondering

when her husband would

intervene.

The bet was no more than

a memory when she felt his

erection against her thigh as he

leant in to whisper in

her ear.

The bet was no more than

a vague recollection as she

felt his hands on her forgotten body,

caught across the bar her husband’s

hot eyes.

The bet was no more,

mislaid as she

pulled his lips to hers,

took his hand and

stood up.

 

(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)