Saturday, June 6, 2015

Mimi-Mona Poetry: We Share A Bed

©We Share A Bed
Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved

I'm a fugitive from the prison of my beliefs.

We share a bed... Your bed.
That premiere day there, I should have heeded
the flashing voices in my head
that told me I'd be sleeping with a devil.

Why is it the taste of you lingers on my lips, in my mouth, in my memory?

Tentative, hypnotic fingers touch my scars,
the ones I threw out of my second-floor bubble life;
the ones so horrible that I forgot them,
until I close my eyes, and then they play in my sleep.
Stroking them, mapping them affectionately,
you search for reveries... But I'd squeezed them
—like a whitehead —and they'd all died.

I call you my man of few words; do you know why?
Because actions speak louder than words and your actions are loud.

We share a bed... My bed.
It's more than showers and sex
with me and my clipped wings and cock-eyed halo.
I only need look into your eyes
to see years of scars and recent lies and a grain of salt

I've memorized the way you breathe —active and at rest.

We share a bed... Of our own making,
with military corners
that are wrestled away from their hold,
that release the secrets we all try to hide,
that are bound by lovers
who look past imperfections,
without exception or condition;
who become more on a well-worn, seven-year mattress.

Tuesday, June 2, 2015

Mimi-Mona Erotic Poetry: Licking Cheetos

Licking Cheetos
Mimi Wolske

It's your fault I'm sitting here
in one-hundred-two-degree heat
sipping sangria, licking Cheetos,
and looking at photos of you, of us.
But I blame myself for that weakness
in continence and self-control
that allows your influence
to entice all my appetites.

All Rights Reserved