She craves conversation
but nothing of the speaking kind.
Her bedsprings
creak like a teeny mouse
captured in a trap.
Her hips shift beneath bedsheets;
legs draped around my midriff.
A smile tugs at the edge
of her lip,
and she nibbled my neck.
Faithful guilt retook its position
in her heart as she removed
her cross pendant,
caressing it with her fingers
as if I were Dracula
and she needed to fend me off
to save her soul.
It was then I understood
her bedsprings were off-limits.
YOU ARE READING
The Lonely Position of Neutral
PoetryBen's throat cancer has returned. Living a lonely life, he found a woman he loves but finds out she's been unfaithful. Ben starts to think the lonely position of neutral isn't that bad. He writes poems and dialogue narratives. Will Ben survive cance...
