I’ve mocked you, grinning,

 
I’ve mocked you, grinning,
for the ginger in your beard.
And I’ve poked and pulled the dark hard hairs
which surge up from your face.
 
I’ve worn the grazing rasp
of stubble on my face
(and on my neck
and on my breasts…)
 
And once (a secret)
tweezed your glinting stubble
splintered
from my hands
from my caress.
 
Yet sometimes, when I stare
(I know my staring disconcerts you)
I hardly see the shadow of your beard
but see—
instead and only—
the softening cushions of your lips,
the gentle planes which strain to softness,
which smile in repose
which dance against my own
 

(3/8/13)

 
Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s