by L’Orso Sul Monociclo

You Laughed

You laughed
when I told you how I intended to kiss her,
but I saw the blush on your face.

You laughed
when I teased you that I was much better at it
than your neanderthal boyfriend.

You laughed,
but there was something in your eyes.
A dare?
I didn’t take it.
I didn’t even ponder what it was at the time.
I was lost in someone else.

But that ship sailed,
and I found myself with you,
unexpectedly, and you laughed,
because your ship had sailed, too.

But you weren’t laughing when I kissed you,
not when I showed you what I meant.
The sounds you made weren’t laughter,
not with my lips pressed behind your ear,
not when they brushed your collarbones,
not when I kissed under your chin,
not when you closed your eyes,
not when you shivered and sighed.

You weren’t laughing when I kissed you,
your flame hair sprawled beneath you,
a look of apprehensive appetite on your face
as you wrapped your legs around me,
our jeans keeping us safe from mistakes.
In no hurry, we slowly sampled each other,
your mouth and tongue like mint,
mine like the orange tic-tacs still in my mouth.
Our combination was a strange and heady melody.

You weren’t laughing when I kissed you
slowly down the side of your neck, 
while I ran my finger between your bra-strap
and the soft cream satin of your skin,
kissing you from one bared shoulder to the other
across your freckle-strewn chest
breathing Cashmere Mist
as my lips lingeringly pressed
between your breasts.


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