You do, you do, you do
Distract me from whatever I
Am reading--whether an
Article on Postmodernism
Or a book by Graham
Greene.
"Go on. Tell me the story."
Last time you murmur
On my inner thigh.
The fiber of your
Lower lip tickles
My skin.
"This is a love story..."
I try to concentrate
And read from the book.
The cover is grey in colour.
Three half-naked kids
Play in the river.
Two bicycles lay
On the grass.
"Ah..." I try again.
But that interjection is not
From the book.
It is from another story,
In which the man is fingering
The girl's neck.
"The man..." I continue
From the book.
But you are tonguing my
Nipple.
And the story digresses
With an irresistible "Oh...."
"Kiss me..." I gasp,
Cutting the prelude.
The narration splits
Into two:
In the book the man
Adores a fifteen-year-old Daisy.
You part my dripping petals
In another story.
Originally published May 2007 - "Mmm"