It is day 22,
and I am listening
to my roommates
having sex. The way she moans
reminds me of a breeze
rolling across three small hills.
How if I were to stand on those hills
each gentle breeze would grace
my shaking back and push me
forward ever so slightly.
My fists unclenching
as I fall backwards into
tall wildflower grasses.
In worm-eye view I’d
see underneath the flowers face.
What lies below is an interstate
of small creatures changing lanes
and grasshoppers leaping from
petal to petal.
But it is all kind of sad somehow— for
I have found myself swimming
in the intimate knowledge
that is shared between
two beings. I begin
to retract, like a bug wanting
to be gone forever, under my covers.
There is only my hot breath
bouncing back to dry my wet eyes.
-sonja lynn mata
No comments:
Post a Comment