The Kitchen Floor

The kitchen floor is not sullied –

The Virginian air chaps her lips

Here, in the midst of May

Where the sun should burn,

Where the body should sweat;

Only the Firefly should be cold

Or the chardonnay chilled.

Instead, she drifts through the day:

Here, it is an icy, awakening chill –

Winter vespers of deep confrontation –

The lover emphatically articulates

“J'adore votre âme, chèrement….”

Her partner’s heart is unmoved,

And her prayer goes unanswered…

Here, the sun should burn the skin

And the passion move spirits

Into a heap of sweat-clad flesh,

The twisted pulses beating wildly, together;

Waves colliding against salty rock and beach;

Calls to Venus, to Aphrodite, thanking the gods

For this time – for these hours, minutes, seconds –

All atop the dust-covered cool checkerboard tile.

Yet, only the wind is chilly in Virginia;

No cocktails shared today;

And her kitchen floor is far from impure. 

Reviews

[Souladareatease]

pure excellence in cheek!!!

[Rochelle Tyler]

So refreshing to find a writer who knows how to write on this site. Really great attention to detail on all your images, very beautiful and never cliche. I like how you use specific names of locations and months, it makes poetry stronger when one can personalize it like this. Great write.

[DeeWV]

You do have a gift for vibrant images.
Again your closing line grabs your reader
and refuses to let go. I leave this review with that line still in my mind.

Dee