©The Denizens of
Love
Mimi Wolske
June 2014, Mimi
Wolske - Mona Arizona™
All Rights
Reserved
The pallor of his
groin —
unsuckled in the
tides,
in the working
of love
making, its
purple vein
tight like an
arctic scout
hunting to mark her
mouth,
dry on her
half-tracked thigh —
was pale and
craving heat.
No longer limp
in the
Straight of
Magellan —a
navigable sea was
she —he
unplaited her
silk and gripped
the waves with
a fisted might
and pulled
back her head so
he could
claim her
ruby-lipped mouth.
Balls as tight
as his chin —
driving her to
new heights
was the goal of
his nights —
horny for her
milkweed,
seeking arterial
ecstasy —he
thawed the
iceberg crops at
her mounds
and drilled into
her slick.
Crippled by lack
of sleep,
the marrow of
her crutch
lay exposed and
open —
rotating hips
pleading
while she begged
for surcease...
a temporary end
at least...to
catch her breath —
and needing thunder's
bone.
Their grave love
was crossed by
light-hearted
giggles in
the light of ochre
shades and dust
—candle light
flickering in
their room
in the desert —synced
to
mariachi music
and the beat of
their hearts.
(painting by Jen Mazza)
Intellectual Property Rights: © 1999 – 2014 Mimi
Wolske/Mona Arizona™. All rights reserved.
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