linda in the dark
c. 2005, Miriam M. Wynn
I crossed your path to find a hint
Of dimples in the dark;
The press of teeth against your lips
Like fangs sliding, white and stark against
Soft flesh hungering hotly for a lick, a bite,
A whisper across the humid air of late night streets
And dark sea air to gaze at me, up, then down,
linda, linda, linda.
Someone told me it meant beautiful:
Perfect, desirable, cute;
A changeable word for the glinting eyes that slid between
Indifferent and oh so considerate;
On your fingertips an exchange of cash
A recognition of large fingers that could
So easily reach out to touch my lips that
want so badly to press against
each and every dimple of your smile.
We want so much, we women,
for a good man to treat us like silk,
like delicate bolts spread across expansive beds
wrapped lovingly around surrendered limbs;
but we sigh when they draw taught,
the same strands administered sternly
by the most gentle of caresses,
moving restlessly in the dark we secretly dream
of fitful, selfish excesses,
of sharp, laving trespasses.
I wonder what those hands of yours could do,
Could they crush me like so much silk?
And in your blue and hazel eyes that moved
So easily between kindness and coldness
I saw a sweetness that veered on roughness,
A manliness beneath your boyish mop of hair,
A shy angle to your New York smile that bespoke of
Fierce delvings and demanding kisses;
My skin wonders how strong those hands would be
and whether they could slide softly across me
to grasp me firmly, strongly, leaving delicious bruises;
and my lips cannot help but remember how
you called linda linda linda on dark, humid city streets,
and one memory is forever imprinted upon my memory
of those distant shores:
your sweet smile and sweeter dimples above your sharp white teeth,
while my own teeth press down on my own lips, in anticipation.