My Pseudo Lover
My treacherous body betrays me
I grab my large pillow and placed it between
My long legs. My hips start to undulate on their
Own accord, as if grinding coffee beans for the morn
My mind plays a part too…as it drifts towards
Him…that man…yeah…that guy
Inevitably I arrive at my destination
One breast escapes from its imprisonment
My nipple resembles a gummy bear interred into a
Goblet brimming with French Vanilla ice cream
Yet, it is a quiet arrival, as if I were tip toying
So as not to disturb someone…repressed…
Unruffled, and elegant. As I embrace my bewildered
Pillow, I think to myself, that if instead of this
Mute pillow, it had been him who had touched me…
How wonderful that would have been
His touch, his scent, his laughter…
And if his...if he...
Had penetrated the deepest recesses of my
Treacherous body, it would not have been
A quiet arrival! It would have been more like….
His touch would melt me like the ice bergs
In Antarctica. I would have convulsed and
Exploded with the similar joy and euphoria of…
Mandela’s when released from imprisonment!
The American hostage’s when they found freedom
From the guerrillas in Colombia!
The man’s whose numbers match the mega lottery’s!
Obama’s when he won the Presidency…and that of
The joy of the faithful, upon the arrival of the Messiah!
He might complain when I crush his hand in a vicious
Hold between my thighs, or grab him in an internal vice lock
With the effort exerted when advancing the leg press
Collared with 180 lbs. iron weights -- a hundred times over!
Yet, such is the thirst and hunger of one who’s traveled
A long and arduous road, forgoing vital nourishment
When one is stripped of the acquired rudiments, be them
Socio-economic, racial divides, or inculcated doctrines…
What is then left? Merely a man instilled with the urge
To procreate, and a woman who for moments morphs…
Into a bitch in heat
This I say to my pillow, as the street light invades my room
.
