VELCRO

They’ve unzipped each other’s skin
and face each other naked,
skinless on the bed,
gazing at each other
from a distance,
breathing heavily,
craving for a kiss.

They wait.

The mattress dents
their bare nerves and muscles.
Hurtful the pillows
under their open scalps.

Dry mouths.

Will his tongue taste of blood as well?
He gives in, stretches out,
aching against the folds of the sheet,
Velcroes his arm to his lover’s chest.

Stillness.

Now the Velcro’s ripped off.
Slash. Spasm. Held breaths.
They quiver against themselves,
chafed by the vibrations
of their exposed veins.
Can’t get to turn off the light,
a solid switch of plastic.

Tender limbs.

They would face away from each other,
if only they dared to move,
to hide these tears
that scald the tendons
on their facial bones.

Velcro hurt.

If only they could escape and go to sleep.
But they’re skinless,
face to face,
breathing heavily,
craving.

Ernesto Sarezale, 2000-2004
www.sarezale.com
sarezale(at)yahoo.com