Sexual Musings :: Dysfunctional

 

I want to wake up in a tiny house,

full of the sounds of you

griping about the price of diesel

and too-strong coffee brewing in the kitchen.

Muddy boots from calving

should decorate the floor

and loose change rattle on the dresser.

Scratched lips from kissing

you with a rough beard,

late night fits of laughter

into my pillow

as you talk in your sleep,

and rushed mornings

in a crammed bathroom

where our shoulders

or hips are always brushing

against each other.

Towels folded the wrong way

in the closet where you stash

all your “good hats.”

Sausage pizza, Dr. Pepper,

and Kit-Kats because surprising

you with the things you love

even though I can’t swallow them

is worth the way you smack

my ass as you stand at the fridge

and drink orange juice out of the carton.



Copyright © 2016 Pearl Bayou

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