Switch: a story
She squeezed an inch of gel
into the palm of one small hand,
slowly applying it where needed;
fixing his gaze with a mild stare,
straddled him coolly, pressing
his arms back against the bed.
Soon they were linked
motionless for a while, then
as she leaned steadily to one side,
slowly rolling to the bed' edge
till his feet touched the floor,
his hands clasping her back.
Her ankles crossed behind him,
he walked lifting her to the next room.
Her back pressed against the cool wall,
she felt the touch of the light switch.
'You turn me on,' she whispered,
lowering herself closer an inch;
' - and off', they laughed, rising a bit,
subsiding then to the floor;
her small hands covered his ears ...
murmuring later 'my poem or yours? -
both.' Much later they went their ways.
She may or may not have written.
Max Richards
Doncaster, Melbourne
3 May 2006
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