Hemingway’s Mistress

What manner of trap

has he laid

infernal cunning

she picks her words

feeling for her mental foot holds

a r o u n d

the trap

he had placed for her

heart

on paper

 

she casts the letter

d

o

w

n

as if it

would explode

in her hands

drained from it

 

but he has her

she drifts to

mind numbing thoughts

the play

and dance

of his lips

on her mouth

her neck

her arms

clutching

her in

tiger’s embrace

as easily

as tissue

 

she tumbles

down

in

the little death

her mind movies

replays

in heated trance

this dance

of the magnificent crime

she tries

to deny it

this exquisite hunger

but she is

mute

from the

heat of her mind

heavy with the thrumming

of her blood

in her veins

furious

that he

only used his hands

to write

yet can

strip her mind

like leaves in Autumn

vulnerable

left wanting

the Summer heat

of his body

unbearable miles away.

5/21/2015

 

 

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