Saturday, November 20, 2010


Within my chest a jackhammering pang,

I sat still at the edge of the bed as

The showers spurted to life under her pale hand.

I was wise to her plan

when I heard the bath stay on,

water rushing and whining

in the pipes,

having had hundreds

of five-finger fantasies in

that tiled space of six feet,

I slyly smile at her attempt

at being discreet,

on light fleet feet

I crept warily to my bedroom door

with lusting aims

breath ragged running hot

with a pervert’s shame

but with clenched jaw

and slowly crouching frame

a peeping tom’s composure

I manage to maintain,

body waiting tensely,

a stick insect stooped low

bones clicking,

head swiveling,

inspecting with a tilt

drawing aural assessments

through her splashing

ears perked, brown headphones

strenuously work past the buzzing

drone of the bathroom fan,

my palms poised lightly

to avoid the telltale squeal

of the old floorboards

I lean towards the sound

of legs sliding against the wet ceramic

she’s going to hear you at any moment

my brain blared with panic,

partially an unwilling party

in this strange scene

unfolding with me,

a crouched tan cat listening

at the hallway wall

suddenly the sloshing bathtub

gave quicker protests

building into rhythmic squeaks

combined with hushed gasps

my mouth hanging open aghast,

I imagined this must be

the spy’s ecstasy

listening to a piece of her

inner life revealing itself to me

as she searches, fingers pleading

through the frothing water

her eager mouth accepting

quenching the hunger

I starve for.

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