Afterglow

Ours is a flawed world, a world of flawed lives made up of millions upon millions of perfect moments.
The pieces don’t always fit, but strip any experience to its component parts and you will find a subtle form of bliss.
A song you haven’t heard since you last had a soul, a dark haired lover spread naked on white sheets, cold beer for a throat dry from ragged breath.
Good things.
A hot bath after a three day binge, washing away the sweat and sin, painted red lips against pale, clean skin, then the room again…scent of sex heavy under the cigarette smoke, and those crisp white sheets, and he…
He is not clean.
Slip between the sheets, quick, the room isn’t cold but this could be a dream…
Flicker of the TV the only light playing over this scene. Settle back, little shy, against the strange yet familiar body beside you, settle in…breath warm on your throat, that old move, arm slipping round you, hand on breast, pulling you back into the gentle, commanding thrust of his hips, commanding…but not urgent.
A promise.
Turn your head…he is only that much taller than you, tilt your chin just a little…
A kiss…no, don’t close your eyes.
Another point of contact.
Don’t think of what came before.
You’re tired now, and hints of dark blue morning are creeping into the room.
Now is the time to close your eyes.
All of this could end with the dawn.

©Starla McCormick


*In celebration of National Poetry Month, I will be featuring as many writers as possible throughout the month. You can meet Starla at ---> https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100002258986463