When the storm passes and the hurricane
Is downgraded, like a naughty child, and the
Curtains of water enveloping us dwindle to
Delicate lattices, and then to nothing, and the
Sun comes out and they arrive to rescue us,
You and I, to save us from the fall and
They are too late, we will pretend nothing happened.
We shall shake hands, friendly survivors,
And go on our way. You to your life,
I to mine, and we shall hardly
Speak about the shack, the thunder, the wind.
Never, ever, shall we speak of the warmth and the sweat
And the kisses, and that caramel-like aroma
At the nape of your neck. Never shall we mention
The fingers, gliding, glistening, the wetness inside
The four trembling walls, the musk, the moans,
The bites. Never ever even think about the scratches
At the back and the softness of the eyes, turning in,
Lost in an implosion that sounded like screams at times.
Never. It did not happen. We sat under a blanket,
That was all. We saw the flash of the lightning through
The broken window. We did not speak much. Just
Waited, in silence. You and I. Did not even asked
For middle names. For addresses. For spouses or mates.
Perhaps there was a slight touch, an accidental contact
Of hands. And hips. Legs intertwining, bodies slithering,
And you were so silky and fresh. Juicy like an apricot
In the early morning. All of you. Tasty and sweet.
Fuzzy in places. Cushy at the curves. Cuddly
And firm, valleys and hills, raising to meet
My lips. And we shall not speak of this,
Once the storm has passed.
We shall not speak again, except for the
Expected pleasantries. The PTA meetings.
Perhaps at the school bazaar.
Mrs. X and Mrs Y, never in first name terms.
Not really friends, more like acquaintances
Who once shared a shelter from the gale.
But the sky is a sea above, a wrathful ocean
Lashing its fury at the land. Trees brake,
Rivers flood. Husbands and children, safe at home.
And here we are. You and I. Bared, naked, raw.
Two survivors coming alive beneath the storm.