Caution to the Wind
Bridget Sweeney
Water streamed over my pale body;
the rivulets wending their way
between my breasts,
through my hair,
into my mouth.
I was just thinking about
how your hands feel on my skin,
how deeply I miss you
and how I am spoiled forever
by your touch.
Backwards, from passionate
to platonic,
makes my teeth grind.
I keep remembering
what you could be doing.
Head back,
I let the needles
sting my hot face.
I felt you there,
in the doorway,
before I wiped the wetness
from my eyes.
How tentatively you stood
'til I smiled.
Coolness breezed over me
as I stepped into your embrace;
the terrycloth barrier rationalizing
a few millimeters of safety.
Those huge male hands
dried me in tiny, gentle circles;
blotting, smoothing.
Your essence is as familiar
to me as my own.
Why it stabs so at my solar plexus
is a mystery still.
You make me swoon,
you splendid man.
What will we do?
What will we do.
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