Sunday Morning, After Your Shower
by Lauren Singer

you stood naked before the mirror,
running your pruned fingers through the tangles
of your wet hair. you'd just dyed it red,
it stained the towel crumpled at your feet.
you pressed your nose to your reflection
and let your breath fog the glass.
you turned and looked at your back,
examining the creases of your underarms
as you bent. and the concave lines of your shoulder blades
while arching your back, as though seducing your own image.
you grabbed handfuls of the flesh under your bellybutton
and blew up the hair that hung loosely down your forehead with a
as though disgusted by the body that
i was so content to melt into any time you would allow.
i cleared my throat to interrupt and you turned aghast
as though i had caught you in some terrible act,
i watched your anger turn red, and pink
in full-bodied blush and burn.
you covered yourself with your hands and reached for the towel,
turning so i could not see your face.
i walked to you then,
waited for your sulking stance to
give in to the arms that reached for you.
you hesitated, your bronze eyes big and wet and lucid.
"what's wrong with you?" your words more a plea than an
i lifted your arms and peeled the towel from your tight fists,
let it fall again so that you were bare before me,
clumsily covering yourself with your hands
because the lights were on, because there was no wine
and it was morning.
i ran my hands along your soft body,
felt your breath catch in your throat
as i traced fingers from your ankles upwards
and over, down your stomach and thighs,
unable to keep my mouth from resting itself on the puckers
beneath your breasts as you bent backwards
and parted your legs for me,
my tongue scripting foreign alphabets down your throat
until your pelvis as you shivered under my grip and tugged my
i hummed into the shallow dips of your hipbones and over the
swelling mound of your sweet nectarlips as i parted them and
pressed my thumb inside you as you stood
trembling backwards,
your hands leaving prints of condensation on the same mirror in
which you scorned yourself moments before i
made you watch how much i loved your body
until you begged me not to stop.
About Lauren Singer:
Lauren is a twenty-something Renaissance Girl currently working as a free-lance writer
for The Western Massachusetts Women's Magazine. She is a BA graduate of Bard
College at Simon's Rock and has been published in various literary magazines.  She
often goes by the mantra "Write the sort of poetry you wish someone would write to you"
and has recently taken on an interest in writing from a masculine perspective as an
exercise in narrative.  She is also attempting to tackle novel-writing in her spare time.
When not writing, Lauren can be seen roaming the streets of Northampton, Ma with her
fellow hooligans or entertaining the masses (herself) with her cat, Jasper.
Sensual by Irene's Art
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