by Lake Fowler

Twice a year, the cleaning

Dusting here, polishing there

Throw this out

And put this away for safe keeping

Beat the rugs and

Flip the mattress

Stopping, two arms gripping the

Bed, slipping in my sweat

The memory foams brings it

All back

Like a sensual Rorschach image

Of two lovers growing from one

And leaving the trace scent

Of their communion

I see the scars our fights have left

Lying in the middle like

A proclamation:

We have been here!

You and I

There’s no such thing as Us

No more, no less, than what

The last year saw end

Our lips have taken opposing tours

Of happiness quests and classified desires


Holding the bed, not daring to hide

The leftover wounds of love’s great teeth

I remember your touch, your grip

Your want

And though my heart feels no sick

And though my mind is yet still at peace

I crave your fingertips and slipping lips

Around me and

All that we once were

Do I dare to put us face to face

With the dust below

Only to find us again next spring?

I hold and grip, my muscles strain

The stain, the stain

We are only but a stain
About Lake Fowler:
LAKE FOWLER is unbearably excited to be through with so much traveling.  He's
spent the last two years touring the country from coast to coast, border to border, and
has finally found a home in beautiful New Mexico.  He spends his days writing fiction
and poetry and recording audio stories for various erotic fiction websites.  His story
"Smoke Rings" is forthcoming from the anthology Relationships and Other Stuff and
his reading of the sensual tale "Something Different" is now available on A Woman's
Goodnight's website.  He can be reached at
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Art courtsey of
Claire Barker