Girls of Summer

As summer fades into fall, I must say goodbye to the girls of summer. The girls who wear short skirts, who wear bikini tops around campus.

The girls who hide, barely, the best and most interesting attributes of their pornographic bodies under sheer and mere layers of cloth.

The fantasy of tan lines is that it makes visible and literal how close a bikini really is to the parts where sexiness turns to sex. The simple triangle of cloth that hides the glories of the ages.

The obsession with how little there is and how easy it is to pull it aside. That so little can hide so much. The thatch of pubic hair barely contained behind a strip of cloth.

Here's to the warm weather and the natural inclination of women to strip down as much as is socially acceptable, thinking they're relatively safe from the male gaze. That we don't imagine the dark wet hairy mysteries beyond the nylon.

That they don't know themselves their pussy and tits are as close as they are willing to make them.

Albumen Crease

Your milky words pierced the morning of my desire
Like the sword of a faint objection
Catching the light that surrounds a coming dark tornado
And the crotch of an errant branch
That catches on passers-by.

And my cock
You wrapped in your silken paragraphs
Inducing me to open my mouth and one true hand
And light my sin with the reflection only your skin could muster
Light and pale like a soft-spooned egg
Ready to be pressed and fucked.

My thin slick strings of cum drip like batter
Falling in a desperate gesture
And spurt deep from my Icarus soul
Ready to fall
On the other side of your screen door that opens by inches
Until you hear the promise
So I see you through bloody fingers you dare to throw
Your safety net out
Until gravity pulled you like the silt of a rainy afternoon
To pool at the edge of my secret.

The dark boundary of my lightening
Like vapor and electricity
Spark the ochre smoke rising off your skin
The polyester smell of your sex
Woven in a careful donation
My scissors can only partially cut.

Just continue to poke your needy deliverance
Like the fog on a glassy beach
That cools and blankets, then disappears
Beyond the sharp wet surface
Tangling with the mesquite tendrils
Of a smoldering fire pit that stays hot all night.

Your legs on the railing slowly uncross
Your kiss short but pregnant with abandon
Your albumen crease craving my potential
Until you pull off your panties
And your fingers slick and spread the hole you said you saved for me.

And so we drink and peel apples in liquid compromise
The remnants burning through a sky without stars
The dew of one last kiss
Hiding the kisses of your dare
The purely physical translation
That anointed your sheet-creased skin
Kept careful in the night of your secret airports
That is offered in panic
The wordless transit
Of your perfect handjob cunt
That lubricated like egg white
And the pleasure of temperature
A simple choreograph that haunts me still
By its animal geometry
That you brought to boil.

Your legs were an open flame that scorched the curtains
And walked me through all the rehearsed steps
I didn't get to practice
In the glow of another empty afternoon
Or laying on that soft beach of your milky night
Avoiding the muddy stain of regret.

I'll dance again through your smoke again
And feel the wicked surf
Kiss your thighs that invite me
So deep, and your eyes
And I separate your doubts like wet paper
Of an abandoned rulebook
A genetic promise that will break you
And me
To finally surrender in a sweat
And stolen breaths of ecstasy
Our limbs outlined damp in the cotton
Reborn in the ancient sun
As we fall intact and entwined
And no detours or waxy threads that twist
To lock or circle round or bring me to my feet
And you to your senses.