Sex & Sweet Nothings

Meatloaf


Your crinkled work boots ease
through the door. We peck.
It’s quarter past three; the arrow insists
today still putters. Like the mud
you track on these tiles
I sponge, the finality in your words
grate. Must you ask, “How was your day?”

I hear the knob wind
in your shower, it cranks. My hands wrench
beneath the kitchen faucet. Streams of dirt
coast down the drain. A pair;
barren trees shrivel beyond our window.

I recall one spring upon our callow
gaze, cherry blossoms
glimmered
in the breeze.

I remember green grass
pillowed
our linked silhouettes.

There we doted on
delicate petals, cherished
the midair marvels
like midnight stars clothed
in pink.

We kissed on empty stomachs
until the sun rays
drifted.

Now you shout
from the living-room,
when is supper ready.

Categories: Sex & Sweet Nothings

Tagged as: ,

Tell us what you think!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s