The thought of mating rituals
has not been entertained in years
and she fails to notice
the dances going on around her,
already captured and caged
forgetting the thrill of a man’s advances;
The smell of cologne, hands at the small of her back
or a gentle cupping of the elbow.
She has forgotten how close
He’ll lean in to whisper nothings in her ear
about dinner or music or even the weather,
and she won’t hear words,
only the treble in his voice
as it vibrates across her skin.
She remembers now about the loud music
and its excuse for him to angle into her
to smell the sweetness of her shampoo
mixed with the excited musk of her flesh.
In turn he knows his breath,
warm and fast, will melt her
in all the right places
regardless of what he says.
And he plays cat and mouse, easing back,
out and away from her,
knowing she is hungry
enough
to chase.
Aleathia Drehmer 2008
Published by DecomP 11/08
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