©Lovers in the
Sangre de Cristo Mountains
Mona Arizona
Mimi
Wolske-Mona Arizona™
September, 2014
All Rights Reserved
Cool breezes
sneak in through
an open window of
our
hotel room in
Taos. Somewhere
between your
car and the
bedspread, we
leave a trail of
discarded
clothes and begin nipping
bites on each
other's bare skin,
playing at the
start —serious
love bites by
the time you
draw me onto
the king-sized sheets.
Whispering
secrets into each other's skin,
telling each
other how long it has been,
calling each
other pet names,
promising shared
fantasies will be fulfilled,
we're voluble
lovers starved for
everything the
other willingly gives.
You tempt me
like a boxer
teased in the
ring by the bell —
just one more round...please.
I beg. Our nakedness
makes our
sighs and moans
sound like music...
we dance, my
hands tied
above my head,
your fingers
knotted around
my hair at the
height of the
dance, at the
crescendo of
the music, and
you demand me
to answer;
Who's your bone daddy, my sex slave?
Muted cries
from the ghosts of
past passion
join our chorus and
fill the rented
room with
the Song of
Lovers' Lust
joined by the
whisper from the
breezes that
sneak in through the
open window of
our room
in this artist
colony.
You say you
like the way
I look, curly
hair plastered
to my face,
long legs naked
and entwined
with yours,
graceful arms
with feminine
hands and
mobile fingers that
play with the
hair on your chest.
Suddenly, we're
apart. You say
stay there —don't move. I say
I have to go to the bathroom.
I don't own
slippers; I pull
my cowgirl
boots on and walk
naked in them
to the door.
The breeze from
the open window
of our
room-for-one-night
in the
tributary valley off the Rio Grande
furls my
nipples. You chuckle.
I recount each
moment of those
earlier hours
and the reckless
part of me,
that dangerous
voice inside of
me, suddenly begs for you.
You knew? You
press me against the
door before I
can leave that confining
space and you
kiss me the way
I was dying to
be kissed again,
stretching out
the moments
before
inevitability sets in
with reality
close on its heels.
Any right to
refusal was
surrendered
years ago when
we gorged
ourselves on
desire and
protected our emotions
from years of
our teeth being cut
on neglect. You
whisper my name;
suddenly my sea
legs give way
to the weight
of love. The way
you kiss my
neck, my waist,
my hip bones,
my inner thighs...
it is war and
it's only
going to end
with my
petites morts —thus with a
kiss I die here
where
the breeze from
the window
blows the curtains
and I hear
them dance in
our room
where we sever
ties with daydreams,
in the Sangre
de Cristo Mountains.
Your mouth
makes my body dance...
makes me
scream...makes you
cover my mouth
with your own.
I scream into
it and feel
your lips curve
up.
In the middle
of this heat wave,
you pull me
back to bed. I search
for words that
will describe how
your shoulders
curve when
you pull me to
you, against
the solidity of
your strong chest,
but I'm lost in
the security of your arms.
