2011-40

The razor's edge
carves your face into
familiar planes again.

The cool scent of shaving
cream is a slap against my
senses, a reminder you're only
home for a few days, this time.

I watch your face emerge in the
mirror, watch one bead of water
stroke slowly down your throat.

I want so badly to catch
it with my tongue, explore your
neck with my teeth and lips.

If I could only hate the one
who is allowed such liberties,
if only you would not come home-

If only you would stay.



Poetry by Minhocao
Read 567 times
Written on 2011-08-13 at 11:01

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countryfog
Never perhaps has shaving been so sensually experienced and beautifully (yet simply, as always) expressed. Given the choice, I would stay.
2011-08-13