(warning: erotic)
Her eyes disrobe me,
making it hard to inhale
what little oxygen's left
in the room.
I tried to swallow
the lump in my throat.
Instead, I breathed an apology
I'd written on paper.
It's the only thing
keeping me from saying
what I needed to say —
what I wanted to say.
An arrogant smile tugged
at the corner of her mouth.
I breathe a written apology;
one you'll remember.
Only I forgot this is the love letter
I wrote to her best friend.
I read it as if written
for her and only her.
Tears wet her eyes,
and sunlight dried them beneath her mascara,
streaming down either cheek.
It's like the oldest trope
of boy meets girl plays out
as a character arc, in the end, bends;
she pulls at my lungs, breathing
for me an apology letter written
courtesy of the uttermost parts
of her destitute heart.
She kissed me
until my cheeks reddened.
I love you.
I love you.
Marry me!
When?
Yesterday...
She kissed me
so hard my lips spread blood.
I breathed in her lips and,
um... tasted her clit.
Hey, we're married, she said.
I can't breathe, I said.
If you're gonna sit on my face,
at least let me breathe, dude.
She cackled to tears
and shifted her bare frame.
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
The Lonely Position of Neutral
PoesiaBen'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...
