Virgin at Thirty
Light headache and
not enough sleep,
languid forms
and lives that
morph in dreams.
I lay right next to her,
and yet she seems to be
a world away.
We lay in silence,
savoring this
semi-conscience state,
my soul is hovering above,
perhaps, I’m still asleep…
Breasts, large, pink nipples.
Legs, white, long, all bruised up.
Stomach sunken in,
smooth as an ivory shell.
Bottom girlish, small,
with dimples.
Navel of a thirty year old
ardent, slightly swollen,
and sweet,
seems as though
it should sparkle.
Hands gently tremble in fear,
surprisingly soft skin
on slim elbows.
What does she think, I think,
prolonging growing,
now painfully, silence.
Little hairs on her armpit,
foreign cigarette she smokes.
Drop of sweat on the temple,
childish smirk.
Tear cascades,
mixes with the sweat drop.
I slide down and
taste her love,
protecting and covering
her nakedness
from the mirror.
What does she think now, I think.
What does she fear?
Lit cigarette falls to the floor…
And we go at it again…
not enough sleep,
languid forms
and lives that
morph in dreams.
I lay right next to her,
and yet she seems to be
a world away.
We lay in silence,
savoring this
semi-conscience state,
my soul is hovering above,
perhaps, I’m still asleep…
Breasts, large, pink nipples.
Legs, white, long, all bruised up.
Stomach sunken in,
smooth as an ivory shell.
Bottom girlish, small,
with dimples.
Navel of a thirty year old
ardent, slightly swollen,
and sweet,
seems as though
it should sparkle.
Hands gently tremble in fear,
surprisingly soft skin
on slim elbows.
What does she think, I think,
prolonging growing,
now painfully, silence.
Little hairs on her armpit,
foreign cigarette she smokes.
Drop of sweat on the temple,
childish smirk.
Tear cascades,
mixes with the sweat drop.
I slide down and
taste her love,
protecting and covering
her nakedness
from the mirror.
What does she think now, I think.
What does she fear?
Lit cigarette falls to the floor…
And we go at it again…