This was someone else’s story once.

The last of your lovers, perhaps.

Maybe she, stuck in traffic,
made the time pass by
snaking her ivory fingers
through the dark jungle
of your chest.

Maybe she rolled your chin
to one side
so she could take the salted skin
beneath your earlobe
with her mouth.

Maybe she remembers
how your breathing changed
as she folded that delicate flesh
between her teeth.

Maybe this was her story.

But it’s mine now.
The fiery, unforged steel of you
belongs to my telling of it.

Your being, an open field.
Its native inhabitants
roaming free once again.
And we begin to name them,
you and I,
in our ancient and sacred tongue.

~

Relephant read:

On your Roof I Describe her Breasts, because you Forgot your Glasses. {Adult Poem}

~

Author: Rachel Astarte

Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock

Photo: flickr