When he pressed his lips to my mouth
the knot fell open of itself.
When he pressed them to my throat
the dress slipped to my feet.
So much I know—but
when his lips touched my breast
everything, I swear,
down to his very name,
became so much confused
that I am still,
unable to recount
(as much as I would care to)
were next bestowed upon me
& by whom.
— Steve Kowit
*whew, fanning self* Ooh, la la!!
Who is this he? And how can I sleep with him?
I knew “him”…he loved my body, he loved my brain…but he did not want my heart.
Still. It’s an experience I wouldn’t trade for the world. When I am old and gray and sitting in the rocking chair at the home, he will be the reason for the smile on my face…
D…wherever you are – xoxoxo