Shirt Off
for M.B.

fitted together still,
like we were once in bed,
like we used to in intercourse

once we had sex in a friend’s bedroom
she in the living room in conversation
with a friend traveling with us

we had to have a quickie
we used to have the house to ourselves,
the owner away, with us house-sitting
that night though, she was present

we wandered into the bedroom
to couple, to make sap,
to whip up love juices
thick, sticky substance, we together made

needed to stop it flowing, wasting,
running onto bed sheets,
onto carpeted floor

inconvenient to ask for towel or go for one
with us both more than half naked
both of us embarrassed
about sweets we’d together stolen
we had to wipe up, reenter,
rejoin out hostess, our company

I ended up bare back in the living room

we wiped with my shirt
I stripped off, soiled with semen,
with our love juices

I threw it to her to carry
she threw it to me
back and forth a few times
she was not carrying it, not owning it
though it was ours
with both our essence on it

it was, after all, more mine than hers
not her to carry the bag
to do the dirty work
we had to share equally
the shit and the sugar


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
12:05 a.m. 21/02/07