Wild One

I often wonder how other women have loved you.

How their courageous hands covered the smoothed curves of your caramel skin and their mouths drank you up like so much fine wine

Sought to keep inside them the concentration of summerlight inside your rich teak wood skin

Did the heat I feel when I stand next to you threaten to burn them to a cinder?

Did the whirls of your long fingers scatter the ash of their orgasm incinerated selves to the four winds?

And stride unabashed into the world

Where you found me?

Whilst I lie here amid the imagination singed sheets illustrating my fevered dreams

Is that midnight voice talking some young one out of her designer dress?

Whilst she keeps her spike heels on, because I know how you like

Those shoes that I will never walk in preoccupy your mind.

How the fine purpose wrought machinery of your decadent mouth

Swallows the sounds of their pleasure

Turns their innocent whites

Into longings for lace

So swollen with the giving and taking

That you inadvertently Spill sex

Into my attempt at normal conversations

I am preoccupied with how you must sound when you

Frenzied word whisper

Provocation, incineration and culmination

Against their domesticity

I think all this

Whilst I look at the catalogue of your beauties

Are you picturing the iron straight tresses of last night’s desire?

Remembering these women,

The women who loved you

Under your finger tips

Last night

But I am not

Not these women

I am she

Wild woman

Free

And despite

All before me

Only I

Dare

Set

Your beast

Free  . . .