Professional attire,
correct posture,
proper attitude.
Serious adults
talking seriously
about serious topics.
I nod my head,
contribute minutiae,
pose attentively.
Yet all I think about is
Your one hand gently,
firmly at my neck:
teeth on my nipple,
tease of pressure mounting.
Your other hand, skillful,
between my legs,
heat swelling, rising.
You, hard, inside me.
My finger tips trace
every measure of your body:
the smooth, the textured, the hairy,
the tasty, the hard, the wet,
the curvy, the boney, the supple,
the curly, the sharp:
the all of your body
that begs me to consume you.
Days later these images flash
across my mind’s rather libidinal eye:
I shudder.
People must think
I have developed a tic.
If they look carefully,
they discern not
a nervous nature,
but reminiscent pleasure.
(cc) Karen G. Johnston
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