Monday, June 1, 2009

Fight for it.

the gloves are on
and you'd never know
this soft leather, the white clinging to my fingers
laughs at the irony of the phrase
as you with your teasing eyes
pull at each tip
slip down my wrist to toy with my
mother-of-pearl buttons 
push and pull and then slide them loose
leaving my veins open to air
and so you follow them
with your long finger 
tracing them up and under the fabric
stretching it to accommodate you 
you slide out again to tweak the white edges
twisting gently again and again
with that predatory smile softened by the slight dent in your cheek
until with a solemn  sound they surrender
leaving me bare to the sight of you

when you, saying nothing, walked away
i had just one thing to say

hey baby,
the gloves are off.

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