by Eirik Guemy
Leaving my car, the passenger seat begs to have you back.
Dark blue curves torturing the fabric of your jeans,
Stretched tighter than denim has any right to be.
Bottom shelf, stooping low, red lace groping your hips.
Forbidden secrets betrayed by fashion and her trends,
Raising the cost of attention well beyond my reach.
Eyes averted from my coffee the moment you walk away.
Gorgeous muscles rippling in the flickering light,
Like two waves heaving in a taut khaki thunderstorm.
Changing in the break room, leaving the door open just so.
Thin shroud of blue flowers harassing me from a distance,
Taunting me with the veiled knowledge of their roots.
Damned If I Know
Somber, crying, clad in a beige skirt and black stockings.
Two lunar halves perch atop the night of your thighs,
Creating unholy thoughts in the midst of a funeral.
Eirik Gumeny is the editor of Jersey Devil Press. He once scaled the Empire State Building, only to be murdered by several bi-planes and a pretty girl. He was not happy about it.
SSF: What is one thing you did this week that you are proud of?
Eirik: I was almost on time for work, three days in a row!