Since My Last Confession
|Trying to wrap my mind around our smash
Im left wheezing like an asthmaticprey to
endless bouts of meaning slippage.
Your version was immediate and visual:
an exposed slit of thong as I bent.
There was no concentrating after that.
My reply was primal, tooborn of the glance
baring your lust. Still, we sat silent as monks
the space between us smaller than a division
of pre- and post-synaptic neural membranes.
A moment of turbulencea sudden collision
of kneescouldve provided reason to speak.
Instead, we retreated to magazines before
going separate ways. Fate or chance
would have it otherwise. After the deed,
we pillow-spoke how lunch was the defining
momentthe point during which we couldve
turned back. That boothdark, deep cocoon
was devil-catalyst, egging us toward sin.
A smile, a looklocked and knowingfingers
reaching to touch, and we were bound for
It-Just-Happenedville, a place where grey trumps
black and white, and temptations lure wont be denied.
Bless me father: I have willingly sinned.
If you've any comments about this poem, Sharon Kozden would be pleased to hear from you.