Linger

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 11, 2018

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Submitted: August 11, 2018

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She sits on the picnic table, sighs.

Spreads her legs wide.

Boy by her side

Slips his hand between her thighs.

Doesn't look her in the eyes.

 

"Will you roll a joint?" She stalls.

He nods, and his hand falls away

To find papers and a rolling tray.

Skilled fingers, gentle tongue.

Sparks fire, song sung.

 

Now fingers come back in between,

Not holding hands but finding legs, feeling.

Maybe she wants it, needs it.

She lets it happen, inhales lit.

 

He comes closer to her clit.

Panties fall- he's face to face with it.

Feel the lick.

Smoke's silver tongue

Curling up her dress,

The deep exhale

Of dragon's breath.

 

Still holding that herbal cigarette

In his pink lips,

She shivers in her hips.

 

Swell. Squeak. Breathe. Moan.

Get interrupted by ringing phone.

Pause.

"I think I'm going to go home."

"Alone?" "Alone."

 

Soft lips so sweet, turn bitter.

Words "Fucking Bitch" hit her.

Eyes wide, cheeks flush.

Feel the blood rush.

"What?"

 

Hoarse throat, sore limbs.

"I hate him!"

Stares at her reflection.

Shatters.

"...It doesn't matter."

 

But months later, she's still sweeping glass

From the corners of her home.

She still feels the shards, shimmering sharp,

In her mind when she's alone.

 

She hasn't smoked since.

She associates him with the fragrance.


© Copyright 2018 Skylah Ginette. All rights reserved.

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