I've left the farmer's bed.
We'd stopped using it
together since bonding 'cross
the need for
winter-bundling.
I must be older now,
more seasoned,
hesitating to leave the warmth and
honey-gold of his skin.
Long after touch parched,
I kept revisiting
that in our beginning
he'd reach for me no matter where I
slid in sleep.
Each time concluding
once we started stoking
wood in the stove,
stacking three logs tight before retiring,
he began pulling misaligned
toward his edge
and to my right.
I'd lie awake in January,
listening to the rise and fall of
his breath
juxtaposed with the constant hum
of the old box fan he kept set on high.
On stormy nights,
a sky's flash through the pane
was enough to illuminate the round
moon and curve of his backside
as he hugged a king's pillow
across his chest.
Sometimes I would
wake to stretch
and curl my long arm,
around his waist.
I'd use the limb-hook as leverage
to pull my body into his back.
I'd blow breath across
the width of his shoulders
and slide my piano-playing
fingertips into the tight
fold of his hard thighs
burrowing just enough to brush the maleness
of his musk-soft and hidden skin.
Night after night
I'd crave and reduce
to a smouldering
dismantled whisper,
Replenish my love.
Copyright © Scupper June/2009 All right reserved Photo credit: 123rf


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Comments
It's sad how, over time, people lose the passion that brought them together at the start. At my age, it's a reality of life I am not pleased with. But then, there are lots of things growing old that displeases me.
rAted!
Rated!
A giant RATED here.
Kisses.
I love a man who gets to the point of things!
Felt.
You are fabulous, Scupper!
John,
I recently saw a post of yours. Surely you get "that look."
Thanks for this.
I read this as celebration of what was rather than a lament of what isn't there, Scupper. You have so much, you are lucky, hugging you so some of that good luck rubs off on me! :) love,
Rolling
Rated.