she wakes before him, and has.

she wakes before him, and has.

mikl paul

 

out from sleep,       light ever bashful

   and wondering  where it has been.

      finding what you have    wanted

  to form;       the soft curl of palm

   denying every dream that doesn’t end

in you.        first breath of day   swallowed

     by a mouth beside his mouth,

       her chest to his back,      her hand

still unseen beneath the conspiracy of

   wind swept sheets.

 

when what they hope for,       never;

    some form of   tributary   or

    river undone     becoming freedom

       or    what fountain but for them;

     those two,     with every sweet love

of the gentle triumph    still building

      a harvest              her hand still

unseen                and not still

               as her chest to his back,

    as suddenly            his back now

  to the mutinous linen       as

such  ohgod     as her mouth

     and his  sawdust grasp    and what eyes see

  half open, the other knowing so distant,

     sliding as a ghost along the curvature of

   her tongue,     and the sounding of

            yes         and        some

      thing is     enjoyed      and dawn

whimper; pale breast touching thigh   and

    her mouth    and      not yet

                     please

I still      want.             her      mouth to his mouth

     again,       you taste like me       being

  erased and        she says       like

 this  -stomach to the exposed mattress-

      and when he is behind her       she

 leads the way                 the geography

    of her  perfect     and   the glance

back to find him   and         if you

   wake inside of me      will you stay?

and if I ask          (don’t stop)     who you

   want     (f**k)     to believe in

will you promise me  (yes.)

      I may also believe?  

Reviews

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

You have an amazing gift for bringing out the sensuality in the coupling of two bodies, two spirits. This piece was a rising and falling; the soft beginning, the distinct middle and the satisfying ending of a thing that embodies pleasure and also a little bit of mournful pain. My emotions are mixed, but I think that was the point of my reading this...to mix up my emotions and end with something that leaves me wanting to know more.