Like Teenagers - Michael Miller

 Kissing like teenagers,
sweat and an erection
hands fumbling the quite familiar
form,
bra snapped off like a wishbone
at Aunt Mary’s Thanksgiving dinner.
 
The breasts fill into the shirt, my
hands reaching up and in to slide
the silk Devil down and off the body,
those flesh pillows giving a final ‘heave-ho’
as the crotch in my jeans grows
incredibly tight.
 
Two hands and a tongue now pressing
firmer, firmer against mine.
 
A quick pause for breath
and the unbuckling of my middle
now its her turn to zip open
and down my chinos,
the smell of vodka orange juices dripping
like her wet and engorging clitoris waft
in the air as I lean in to contract my hips.
 
Her two cats watch from a distance on the stairs
 I’ll have to climb soon since the sofa is not
wide enough for the two of us to complete the act,
animal silhouettes from the lights of the stereo wall
blue and deceptive red, the turntable warbling an old
nineties tune
but I’m tuned to another time, another past.
 
Where this would make sense
where it would be right
and not a deception and betrayal.
 
My pants off now, those husky demons,
as she pulls me up the steps
her nipples perky and inviting
I follow behind my cock free from the denim
wrap, wiggling hard and ready in the night
as we softly pad into her unmade bed.
 
Ah, ah! Insertion and thrust, thrust and moan. Slobbering
those breasts, whisky tongue like a hungry Postman at
ten thousand stamps.
 
Wet, wet, wet.
Sweat,
saliva,
the pungent intimate juices
and hot breath breathing.
 
Ejaculation.
Elation.
Regret.
 
A cough and my head on a perfumed pillow
of guilt and ecstasy
fear and release.
She lights two cigarettes, passes one.
Puff
            Puff
                        Puff.
 
I roll over to the window, head in one hand
the other between treasonous legs.
 
Sleep.