©You
Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved
The way your open
shirt blew
up against my bared breasts
hinted a breeze was
present.
Or, did the blue
denim cling?
Shelves of books held
hands
with the table placed
prominently before
the
open window, the
flapping sheers.
Was it hot that afternoon
in my bedroom
decorated
with discarded
clothing?
Covers shoved to the
floor
at the end of the bed
and our
sweat-glistening,
sated bodies sharing
moans
would lead one to
believe so.
Your body under mine,
I stared down into
your eyes
as if peering into a
well
or a pool searching
beyond my own
reflection
for something else,
something my outstretched
arm sought— you.
