a poem by Lise Whidden (1 of 2)

Tone

Words excite me.
An inflection bends
my body into an arch.

The way one lover says,
"Spread your legs"

and another says,
"Come here, girl."

My husband does not speak.
He only reaches.

© by Lise Whidden

 
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #6 ~ November 2009    next poem