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jennifer
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I don't want to love him.
No, I want to feel his warm wrinkles
smooth out in my mouth, and
his gently swaying balls
bouncing limply on my lips,
then coming to rest on them
like a trivet.
I want to rub my finger across
the tiny fleshy beads of the head,
my nails turning the red one white,
if only for a second or two.
I think about watching TV while
sliding my thumb across it, idly,
breaking his concentration on the game.
Trying to stay cool, yes myself,
and
I don't want him to know
about the itch inside my shorts
until I grab his hand and slide it there.
I could even kiss him, dispassionately,
forgetting for the moment who he was,
only a faceless mouth and tongue and teeth,
the one from last Tuesday's waking dream.
I'm fried from drinking Coke and
talking to myself about that.
But I don't want to love him,
'cause the last time I did that,
I got fucked, and
I hate
to get
fucked.
©1999 by Stacy Vincent
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000728
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