Poetry -- AFTER HOURS

After hours… and before mischief multiplied by the minute
I attempted to match syllable for syllable
in a sexciting story contest
(That was with Jeb and friends)

As conversation heated like pots on Sunday fire
Her once buttoned-down personality began to pop open
My partially unzipped lips yearned for more talking space
And where poets use of simile and hyperbole would suffice
She masterly inserted body language
I found its use effective, tasteful…

By now, the rest of the circle had faded into background murmur
At best, blurred faces cheated of recognition by her illumination

But really, back to her… back to us:

In the interim,

She had performed trailers of my fantasies, unwittingly
Her increasingly unrestricted body language
smacked of Sean Paul, Shaggy and Movado riddims
I was inside… her mind now
Knowing what she liked
And how she liked what she liked
Left long lines of libidinous thoughts
launching for daylight

Undoubtedly my suppressed expectations
were now squarely confronted with the unexpected
Could one so seemingly docile wax SO-O sensual after hours?
Damn!


Conceived and written by davric