Jack could wait a while,
legs pushing off against
the back porch floor, loins
strengthening, his brain
searching
for closure,
with no doubts
about his love for Jen,
his duty to her renewed.
he could wait a while longer,
sensing Jen sitting inside too,
her own thoughts transparent,
and her love waiting
for him.
he could picture her
on their bed, the white sheet
loose on her legs,
her breasts exposed,
the way she knew
he liked them.
Jack could wait longer
but now he sat up, stopping the eerie
swing’s song, and
all he heard was crickets,
and all he wanted
was her.
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
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Love Tinka
Such a beautiful write about longing.
Kathy