This is one of those times. I don’t mind though, because the sex was nice and I was happy in that moment and this poem will always remind me of that.
Legs
your body is the reason
I wish I could draw.
The shadow in your thigh
that crevasse, the creation of
your muscle tensing
as my fingertips bite
into your flesh. How my thumb
skims that ridge, feels the tension pulsate
through the heartbeat in my hand
as you arch back, push
your chest against mine. A growl—
born from the flexing of your
foot as it stretches, tight enough
to make me feel a rubber band
about to burst, coursing through the rugged
ribcage that pounds beneath me. A crescendo
erupting, a language only I know, like
gravel and salt and crashing tides
that coat my neck, melt
into my skin.
Mashed Up Memories 