she leans in like
laughter; their hands
link, twine. it’s not
yet but the cruel
cusp of april, and she
yearns
for fire-rimmed
decembers.
the way her legs
cross says she
must have stories no-
one knows.
his eyes blaze
like sun-
lit secrets & i wonder
if he’s heard ’em, if
she loves him
that bad.
the tenth muse 
This rocks. Word choices so delicate and necessary. Beautiful snippet of a moment!!
thanks so much, Amy! 🙂
the way her legs
cross says she
must have stories no one knows….I like these lines…they say so much…cool piece.
This was a deliciously erotic piece. It’s always the moment of anticipation that’s the best. Love you(r writing) – you talented you! – Mosk
aww, gracias, Mosk … the moment of anticipation– isn’t it, though? 😉
this rocks…i love that the way her legs cross say she has stories…and the wonder if he know them…mmm…def some heat behind this one…
and hey i will see you in a few days so can i request this one?
i can take requests, i reckon. *smiles* it’ll be great to see you. let me know when you get in, yeah?
Perhaps the photo led me, but this one brought to mind a movie of the 30’s or 40’s, perhaps a bit of film noir, even. Loved the mood you created.
maybe a bit of noir, yes, perhaps. appropriate to a blues bar, i think. thanks, Victoria.
I really like this, the title grabbed me first, just love the feeling of the whole thing.
This is so subtle, and yet so suggestive. I like the way the words tease out the latent heat, swirling like an aura around her, but just hesitate short of ignition. A smouldering gem of a poem.
“smouldering gem…” — i like that. 🙂 thank you, Samuel.
secrets & i – the padlocked closet
You really painted a great picture of her. I love this.