Malcolm James Furst
Words, words, wordsArchive for lips
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.
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.
Mary Elizabeth Schwartz
Mary Elizabeth Schwartz
You are joy and gay in the light of mine eyes, but not a light ethereal gaiety, instead, a weighty, serious levity with “Perky Bosoms.” I have never loved a woman with perky bosoms, and though it may seem silly and objectifying, I would love to know an uplifted, firm breast as it juts from your soft, white flesh, your smooth, supple body, all curves and pressed passion with which or into which I would throw myself, heaving and thrusting, until I lay with you, joined in the heart having been joined in the loins, the lips, the finger, the nape, the spine, the mind, the soul. Touch me. Let me touch you and make you mine forever, at least for the moment.
