Delia who had bedded her
French nanny at fourteen
and had hot sex with the head
girl at boarding school, now
lies beside the arts tutor named
Ms Shopton in college. She has
explored the woman’s body from
top to toe. Invaded each orifice
and landed her ninety ninth
plus umpteenth kiss. Sunlight
pours through the high window,
the woman’s scent and body
odour invades the bed. She has
kissed most parts that can be kissed,
scanned the woman’s skin, taking
in the freckles, the spots, the mole
inside the left thigh, run her finger
along the spine. She watches the
woman sleep, the mouth slightly ajar,
the perfect teeth, the tongue (who
knows where that has been) touching
the corner of the lips. She may well
get a high A for this piece of art work,
the effort put in, the juices taken out,
the fingering and touching, the final lay.
She breathes in the air, runs her tongue
across her own damp lips. She hears
the college bell, the time to get up, the
breakfast call, the wide awake stare.
The woman beside her sleeps on, lying
worn out, out for the count, lying there.
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