Malcolm James Furst

Words, words, words

Archive for hips

This Kiss

This kiss
my lips
your tongue
our noses
your neck
my ears
your shoulders
your hips
hope
and
above
all else,
this kiss.

From Afar

You,
across the room
with your long black hair
and your hips for holding onto,
I wish I’d remembered my glasses
so I could admire you in greater detail.

Shouldn’t You Be Painting My Eaves?

The way you stood there
waving that brush around,
asking about MY name,
asking if you went to school MY sister,
makes me wonder if you want me
to tell you more than the facts, ma’am.

The way you stood there
asking for a glass of lemonade,
talking about how the bad mojo of someone with YOUR SAME NAME
ended up on your credit report,
and spelling your name,
middle name and everything,
makes me wonder if you want me
to know more than your name.

The way you stood there
all hips and arms and attitude
telling me how you wanted to be different from everybody else,
how you wanted to STAND OUT,
so you got a phone number that spells B-E-R-Y,
makes me wonder if you want me
to call you at home.

The way you stood there,
leaning in,
telling me about your OLD jobs,
your OLD home,
your OLD life,
your OLD love,
and how you found your way to MY world
from another, harder world,
makes me wonder if you just might want me
to gentle your world.

The way you went on and on
about the NEW love of your life
telling me about HER eyes
HER arms,
HER lips,
makes me wonder if I wonder too much.

Sex in Motion

When I slide up to you dancing above me, your hips roll in my hands.

I shape you with my fingertips and two-dollar bills.

Wet with sweat, you are sex in motion,

and I lose myself in the flashing lights and the throbbing music.

The smell of you, the taste of you, and the touch of you intoxicate me.

I want to stay drunk forever.

Forever, please, forever.