Prologue: Two months ago, when “writersplace.net”, our authors web site began looking for the three most popular, most widely followed commercially unpublished poets, Barbara’s name came up and the three were invited to a poetry competition in Chicago. 

Poetry with permission of Elizabeth J. Russo

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A Three Day Lifetime:  Part Eight 

Saturday, June 19, 2009

Day Two: The Last Night

5:48 p.m.                                      

 Barbara’s hand in mine, within throngs of people, we walked  southward on the east side of Michigan Avenue for about an hour looking in windows, entering a few stores then, finding a restaurant, we had dinner.

My hand in hers, now we walked to the north on the west side of Michigan Avenue, but not interested in stores or what they may hold, our interest, Barbara’s interest and my interest on one thing only... to be together, to be alone together.

                                     ****

Face to face, beneath the blanket they lay closely together.

They lay closely together, he feeling the soft warmth of her breasts against his chest. She feeling her breasts upon his chest and the comforting contour of her stomach against his.

They lay closely together, having no need to speak.

They lay closely together, lips touching, barely, each breathing the breath of the other.

They lay closely together, both feeling the warmth of the other, their lips touching lightly, the breath of one the breath of the other, the room black, neither see the other.

Here, now, here is what there is. Here now, here is what there will ever be.

For Barbara and Mitchell here, now, is what they have, what they will ever have and, these minutes sacred, thoughts now not of sex, but of  being... being close... being together... being.

Her fingers now entwined in the hair above his ear.

His fingers now entwined in the hair on the back of her head.

Spiritually held within a womb of warmth, of closeness, of love... of future loneliness.

Softly said,  “I love you.”

The veil of sleep coming to him.

Barely a whisper, “I love you.”

The veil of sleep coming to her.

 Sunday, June 20, 2009

Day Three: The Last Morning

1:38 a.m.                                    

Turning in her sleep, Barbara nestled her buttocks closely into the forming contour of Mitchell’s stomach and thighs.

Subconsciously, in the well of their sleep, subconsciously aware of each the other, subconsciously aware of the closeness, of the absolute comfort of their closeness, the front of Mitchell’s thighs and legs now formed tightly against Barbara’s sharply angled backside. His arm now between her arm and side, his hand now nestling a soft, warm, sleep creased breast.

Sensing him. Sensing his hand holding her breast, sensing the probe of Mitchell’s turgid penis pushing into the lower fold of her vagina, angling even further, angling even sharper... his penis now entering into Barbara’s vagina...

Not fully awake...

In the ethereal wisps of sleep...

Now...

Waking now, the dream she dreamt not a dream, angling her leg, lifting her thigh, opening herself...

Waking now, the dream he dreamt not a dream, moving closer into her widened thighs...

“Mitchell,” turning her head, whispering, “I love you, Mitchell.”

Fully enveloped, sensing his being, his soul, his love enveloped within the sheath of Barbara, “I love you.”

“ I love you.”

All movement barely discernable... slowly, softly, moving in concert, her hand on his hip, his hand now onto her stomach, moving as she moves, with each forward and back movement, caressing the soft flesh of Barbara’s stomach, feeling the shaft of his penis entering and withdrawing,

Oh, God! The thoughts of one the thoughts of both, Oh, God!

His cheek upon her cheek,  feeling the warmth of his breath...

Harder, faster...

“Mitchie,” her nails pressing onto his hip, “Oh, God, Mitchie!”

“Oh, God!”

Slowing...

Slowing...

Breathing slowing...

Lying still, lying tightly together, the fluid of their love blending.

Lying together, his cheek upon her cheek, “Barbara, I love you.”

Knowing he’s retracted, reluctant to move, reluctant to have him leave, wanting the feel of him, there, “Don’t go, honey, don’t go.”

“I won’t, baby. I won’t.”

Holding Barbara, her back tight against his chest...

Quietly...

Feeling the sobs, his throat tightening, barely able to speak, “Honey.”

“I know, baby. I just don’t know how I’m going to do it.”

Having no idea how he’s going to do it, “You’ve got to, honey.”

 “I know.” Turning...

A gentle kiss, and...

Unable to hold back...

“I know, Baby.” Holding Barbara, her face upon my chest, feeling the sobs, hearing her cry, feeling her tears... feeling my tears, “I know, baby. I know.”

Quiet now...

                         Passion spent,

                         now just tenderness.

                         The light touch of your hand on my chest.

                         My hand, draped over your hip touching

                         the soft flesh of your cheek.

                         Now only sleepy, gentle love.

                         Passion spent, 

                         I sense the heat of your body

                         and the soft touch of your flesh

                         and the sweet scent of your hair,

                         and the last whisper I whisper,

“Goodnight, my love.”

                         and the last whisper I hear,

“Goodnight, my love.” 

                          goodnight.

©May 26, 2010 / Mark M Lichterman