Click

it’s insistent

with that fucking click click

click

bothers me

but what the

oh yeah

other shit to worry about

big stuff

like the fate of the world

click click

like transcendence into

some paranormal ether connected to

forever

click

click

shuttling between now

and then

between possibilities

click

between realities

click

quantum leaps

quantum French kisses into

click

somewhere else

somewhere

natural

click

somewhere

where your mind plays as lightly as your fingers

on me

click

where I play

arpeggios

on your spine

click

licking time

into submission

click

one more time

click

David Trudel      ©  2013

Cottonwoods

Floating pearl drops fill the air

Cottonwood orgasms released on the wind

Flurried fecundity

I try not to inhale

Walking through clouds of dancing potential

These are thirsty trees

That belly up when the doors open

Reaching new highs every day

As interested in drinking and sex as most bar room patrons

And like them a little soft

Their wood isn’t prized for much

They tend to fall over when cold winds roar

To be replaced by next year’s crop

Who look to be about the same

Getting high and drinking as much as they can

Then spilling their seed

Unconcerned about conversations or relationships

 

 

David Trudel  ©  2013

 

 

Fantasy

Today I won’t let my fantasies run wild

I won’t think about your open-toed sandals

Or unslipping them and raising your foot to my mouth

To kiss your high-arched instep while fondling your toes

I refuse to think about your hand reaching out to the back of my head

And pulling me close

Into the best kiss I’ve ever tasted

I won’t dream about unbuttoning your blouse

Or slipping off your bra so that I can run my tongue

First this way then that around the velvet smoothness of your aureoles

While your nipples rise to attention, which I give them

I won’t imagine my hand rubbing your crotch through your jeans

Or your hand pressing down on mine

Worrying that you want to stop my naughtiness

Until you start applying your own intentional pressure

Teaching me your rhythms and tipping points

I won’t dream about belts unbuckled and the sweet over the hip slide

Pants pooling on the floor

I won’t visualize your panties already darkly wet

Or skin shimmering with the perspiration of hot pleasure

I don’t think labial lapping thoughts today

Or wonder about the sensitivity of your clitoris to my fingers and tongue

This isn’t the day to breathe your smells into being

Or to taste you on my lips

This is a day to pull back from fantasies

To a place where smiles are just smiles and not an invitation

 

 

David Trudel    ©  2013

 

 

Tunnel

A dim light bends shadows

There’s no reason to make noise

Which would be muffled anyway

Here, beneath the city

Understreeting to trystplace

Your footfalls sound tentative around the corner

But they continue

You appear out of the dark

We don’t speak

Just reach

Pull together clinching tight

Finding our way through what is suddenly excess clothing

Shedding cottons

Sliding silks slow southern descent

A first taste

Then a moment of restraint

Eyes locked into each other

Simple kisses dissolving wetly

Urgently we try to absorb each other’s skin

Finding cellular delight pressed tight

In the shadows that lie beneath

Under layers that hide your mystery

Funkymoist

Nothing locked behind us

A danger of discovery

Pleasure heightening apprehension adds to the rush

Bloodrushed heat becomes inferno bright

As you arch your back pressing up harder

Harder into softer

Urgent for that moment of completion

Exchange of self

Swallowing each other

Thirstily

While aboveground people walk from shop to shop

Sometimes stopping to take pictures of the view

A view that doesn’t scratch the surface

 

 

David Trudel    ©  2013