Consume me, I won’t mind.
Does this not feel like our first time?
A spur of lust.

An illusion that what we are up to is
something called Art.

I,
sleeping beside you unclothed,
would gently press
my forehead on your chin.
These sensitive ears would hear
your calm breathing, and this
would make me quiver in fear of losing you.

As I cover your warm body with these sheets,
let me say that I chose not to be paid,
but to be taken seriously.

My first time,
just in case.

When strangers imperil you
by entering your tiny hole,
would you shout for help?
Or for delight?

Other posts by Aubrey Bahala

This entry was posted on Friday, May 9th, 2008 at 1:50 am by Aubrey Bahala and is filed under Environment. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.