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Edited on Sun May-07-06 06:28 PM by WritingIsMyReligion
:thumbsup:
Some of my own, which is also posted in the Writing Group:
Wine, Sweat, and Sophistication
It was rather like the time,
when I was smaller and of similarly
crippling naïveté, that I thought to
take out dusty bottles of my
parents, and drink like an adult:
the wine would burn down
my throat, and slop uselessly
down my front, and I would really
have no choice but to laugh at
how people called this
sophistication.
Well, now the rotten grapes still
tasted as deliciously awful as they ever
had, but their headiness, their
potency was magnified by the twisted,
sweet stench of your sweat,
the carnal sweat that rolled, like
acid, down my lips,
bruised from yours, and came
to rest, burning, between
my breasts—we thought it all such
sophistication.
And perhaps it could have
been as cool as the jazz seeping all
around, except for the soured
wine on your breath, that made me turn
aside and glimpse her picture there,
on the dresser—so that I remembered
the ring you tossed aside, as if
it were nothing, for our truly
illegal tryst, and I knew I
wanted no part more in your lovely
sophistication.
But still I lay there, on her
sheets, in our sweat, trying not to
think of her sweat mingling
with the expensive thread count, trying
to just lose myself—and I knew how:
all I had to do was try a
bit of your beloved wine, sitting right
there next to you, so I asked,
and you poured me a glass, with
the reminder that it was the height of
sophistication.
And in the Bacchanalia that
followed, the wine helped me to forget
such immaterial things as age of
consent laws, so that you could
teach me one more thing;
you used your great nakedness to
help me relive ancient
sex rites, like those you mentioned
in history class the day before,
and how people called them
sophistication.
It was supposed to be something
of ecstasy, and you made
me gasp and groan with shock at
your prodigious skill, at how
your fingers worked so well,
so I was glad to lay there and
let you betray her, let you
grind me into the bed
with all the others you must have
taken, under the delusion of
sophistication.
When later you began your drunken
snores, I was still wide awake, drinking
wine and sweat, mine and
yours, and thinking some,
about my sweet sixteen the day before,
about what a fitting present
you had just given to me—the
ability to see how all the sweaty gray
temples in the world couldn’t
really make any guy know about
sophistication.
###
Copyright ME. :P
:hi:
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