Body Talk

Smirking snake-faced and satisfied, runner’s firm thighs

pink where two skins tussled, muscle-torn hairs

now flattened by memory of male weight; damp sheet

limpeted onto his soft back skin, peeling where he’d lain

expectant beneath me, an oily scent, lolly stick wood sweet,

coating his swollen muscle. He rises to leave. “Try not

to miss me,” he grins, hustling into his self-conscious threads

and leaving without even glimpsing at me in the bed. A body like his

would have once been a warrior’s, primped and buffed and fine feathered;

but despite all his toning his moves lacked finesse, just sharp clunking

butts in a self-serving, chaffing mess. Sore, at the comforting click of the latch

I relax. Now he is gone I can rescue the job that he hashed.

(First published in Lunar Poetry, 2015.)