By Summerhill

Something is different
Legs wrapped about his
waist and eyes
glowing so brightly
I must look away

satiated
momentarily
sharing indulgences
of the palate

no table cloths
or sommeliers

naked,
on carpeted floor
licking roasted chicken
juices off fingers
palms and wrist
in candle light

Something is different
in the lingering kiss
amidst a steaming scented
stream, delicate touches
shuddering like leaves in
a breeze
carrying us away

Breaking bread
with luxurious cheeses
and succulent fruit
picking crumbs
like morning doves
off each other's bellies

Something is different
tongue lapping
licking my
juices off fingers

Later smelling the wood
of antique shops
and eyeing exotic teas
Pretending
we don't want to
hold hands

Something is different, he says
the long farewell,
no parting at the curb

No.

This time
my secret love
feels safe
loving me
in return.