Happy Sunday My Beauties!

In my house Sundays are for lazy naps, canoodling on the couch, and reading. It’s a day that is perfect for poetry. Enjoy this erotic musing to spice up your Sunday canoodle.

Be well and be wonderful.

Anne

---

 

Heading North on Sheridan Road

Angeline insisted on driving me home.

We rattled through the gunmetal dawn
lulled by a monotonous intersection of sound,
tires splashing through the freezing rain and
the side-to-side swipe of the wiper blades.

            whir
            patter, tick
            whir
            patter, tick

We had spent the night in her apartment.
A scrubby walk-up on the west side,
far from the shore of Lake Michigan,
where thousands of alewives
had heaved themselves onto the beaches
creating a mosaic of silver flesh, sand, and rock.

I chain smoked Marlboro Reds
with the window cracked –
memories swept in on the back of exhaust fumes
and the steel snap of early March

             Plastic milk buckets
      overflowing with smelt.
            My father’s hands
      iced raw & bloody

I huffed, annoyed that the remembrance
was not the one I wanted to savor.
I craved the El’s pitch and roll
and the freedom to watch Chicago’s
graffiti-tagged skin slip past,

ALKN
            Hell Bound Truckers Kick Ass

as I rocked home on the third rail,
hoarding the flavor of the night before

Angeline’s plump fingers
                  pressed to my lips
            salted slick with my warmth.
                  Her whisper was reverent
            as I licked my wetness from her fingers –

you, 

she said,

                                  this is you.