In Her Room

April 28th, 2013

I solemnly lowered the zipper from her neck
to just below her breasts.  She lay there quietly,
her eyes intent on my face, her lower lip
(with that upturned crescent of scar, a pale
moon, just beneath it, I found so endearing)
gently sucked between her teeth, so I
ventured to lower it to her navel, slowly,
receiving neither protest nor approval.
She could have shrugged her arms out of
the jumpsuit’s sleeves just then, but she did not:
she lay there quietly, her eyes intent on my face,
her lower lip (with that upturned crescent
of scar, a pale moon, just beneath it,
I found so endearing) gently sucked
between her teeth, so I slipped my right hand
under the blue fabric that felt thick and warm,
under her breast, which one didn’t matter,
she lay quietly, intent, her lower lip
released, neither protesting nor welcoming.
I slid my hand up the flaccid mound to its
hard tip that I knew from other times I’d
peeled the fabric back was chocolate brown,
and rested there, it in my palm, her lower
lip once more between her teeth, her eyes
intent but inward as if having taken in
my face now she took it all the way in.
My hand rode the velvet of her steadily
breathing up and down, then down and
down the ribs rising and falling, past
flatness and rested over the well of her
navel that thrilled my palm as her nipple had.
Still she lay still.  A wildness had entered
her face, not resisting nor urging, so I
followed the slope of her belly down
to where the down thickened to a
scratchy thicket and the band of her
underpants held and pressed my fingers
the way her hand had held and pressed them
on her cheek just eternities ago, and under
that was skin folded and wrinkled as I
could not imagine, moist and warm as her
tongue.  Just then her mother rattled pots
downstairs in the kitchen and I withdrew
my fingers slick with lovely musk, and ever
after, her zipper  carefully, soundlessly drawn,
emptiness had new dimensions and layers.

This entry was posted on Sunday, April 28th, 2013 at 11:51 pm and is filed under Poems, Sex. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

4 Responses to “In Her Room”

  1. Upton O. Goode Says:

    Whoah.

  2. Joan Price Says:

    Wow, Seth. This is really erotic. The excitement and tenderness of teenage discovery + the perspective decades later — beautiful, thrilling. I love this.

  3. Seth Steinzor Says:

    Joan, one reason I posted this was because of your question about the difference between erotica and porn. To some people this is porn because it’s an explicit description of a sexual encounter. I personally think the only difference between this and porn is that I describe it better than a porn artist would.

  4. Joan Price Says:

    True enough, but not the only difference. It’s also pure poetry and breath-catching emotional power, which porn can’t claim to be.

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