The Craning of Sex

My bed is pressed up against the wall, doubling as my couch, a slight throbbing in my head holds me to the wine of last night, my new apt, my new life, and the wine I drank in my dreams, as I departed the bar with the man whose breath still feels slight against my shoulders. I lie in bed just a bit longer, enjoying the feeling of well – being, still perched in my dreams. Starring at the wine bottle now laid on my floor, the man reappears, his tongue probing long and hard, as I try to catch my breath. Tasting the red wine on his lips, his shadow walks back into the wall, like some riddle I am suppose to get. As I turn the page of the book I am reading, a breeze causes the curtains of my hot apartment to billow out, I stand up wrapping them around the folds of my naked body, last night feels unreal, and the dream vanished. Drugged by the morning sun, as a bead of sweat settles in my navel, and once again, I think about the sex. I discard the curtain, the sarong, and replay last night over and over again in my head. The suffocating heat has me lying back on the mattress, as the shadow of his face resurfaces from my walls, separated only by the billowing of the curtain. Giving myself more room to linger in the after effects of sex, trusting that somewhere again his image will soon appear. My nudity is now on display for all to see, as I crane my head further out the window to the street below. A man looks up, and smiles at me.

(Funny, how I always seem to dream in color)