My Poetry: A Stolen Afternoon

A Stolen Afternoon

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*CONTAINS ADULT THEMES*

I reach for you
to pull you closer
from where you stand
like an 40s film star
with right hand on hip
cotton cloth hugging
your hourglass body
like you have all the time
this late summer’s afternoon can afford.
But I do not,
I need to see
underneath that dress,
so I lead you to the couch
where you sit
with exaggerated splendour,
like a child of Aphrodite,
letting that red dress
ride high on your sunkissed thigh,
stopping just short
of your cloth less crotch.
Bars of light.
steal through the wooden blinds
erasing the lines
around your eyes,
as if age was just a formality
in your kingdom of sin
where your are judge, jailer
and bearer of the whip.
I fall to my knees
and beg you, my master,
to kiss that length of flesh
from toe to hidden depth
sticky with desire,
as if set like a trap
so that my first touch
will snare me forever,
but you refuse my plea…
saying: ‘Be patient dear boy –
we’ve three hours before he’s back.”
Then you take my hand,
and lead it
across your cheek,
down your neck,
past your breast
to your crotch:
“My beautiful boy, is this
what you couldn’t wait for?”
I sigh,
lick your lips,
and whisper it is…