Portrait One

PORTRAIT


In the far corner of the room,
This time, I folded
The sleeves,
With careful creation and diligence

While I was thinking about his taste
Inside.

He sits now in the opposite corner,
Hands dutiful like poised children,
Or darkly restrained, like Mourners
Paying silent respect;
He tilts his head in feigned patience,
Warmly playing chaste,
But in secret searching my eyes.

I must confide
It is finally his thick breath of whiskey,
And his skin,
Still luminous with drops of sex,
That I think of-

Letting the shirt fall to the floor,
Like a nod of delicate consent,
I slide towards him.

I trust that fermenting scent,
I am thinking,
as he draws me in by the hip.