Seaside Sirens
by A.J. Huffman

It wasn't the water
that called us here. Catching
us. Off-guard. The night's magic
light flashed. Our eyes
crashed. The waves
drowned any potentially
disastrous protests of our
tongues. Locked.
Skin. Against the rocks.
We collided. Tasting. Tearing.
Until touching lost meaning
in the mi(d)st of a swell
only the moon's mood
(and our hands)
could control.



Indefinite Appeal

I overlook basic thought
as your fingers slip
under the straps of my dress.
What was your name?
What was mine?
Is there a difference? Between
the wall and the want. In this
need, we are anonymous. Mute,
blind and bound by the unlevel senses
of our extremes
(or was it our extremities?) Blurring.
Blending. Both are bulging
with the burden of
separation. Friction is
fire. And our basest desire
to consume. Mouths
tongues fingers hips
joints. Joined in mutual motion.
Stirring. Backward downward
forward. Thrust
is the point. Where our two
halves make a (w)hole
is a makeshift heaven.
(Dare we say it?)
It's good our lips are busy.
This breaking is a better prayer.
Share |
About A.J. Huffman:
A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida.  
She has previously published her work in literary journals, in the U.K. as
well as America, such as Avon Literary Intelligencer, Eastern Rainbow,
Medicinal Purposes Literary Review, The Intercultural Writer's Review,
Icon, Writer's Gazette, and The Penwood Review.
HOME | FICTION | POETRY | E-ZONE | DIARY | SUBMISSIONS | CONTACT | ADVERTISE | ABOUT US
Copyright © 2005-2011 Bare Back Magazine, all rights reserved.
Please contact the authors if you'd like to reprint articles on this site.  All copyrights are retained by original authors