Shoot The Breeze

It sorta just came out -
I really shouldn't have sex with my mouth open.
Despite my caution - I mean, after infatuation,
what then?
despite my paranoia - you never really get over a
break up
despite my fears - what if you never break up?
it slipped past my defenses
under my guard
rolled off my tongue
squeezed through my teeth
and there it was
between us.

I really shouldn't mix talking with sex.
I mean, there she was, chewing the fat
and I shot my mouth off
and out it came -
like semen from a young man
like flattery from an old man
like crap from a poet
a small parcel or words, loosely tied
a bundle of sticks, a faggot no less
lit by the spark between us
and through your eye, a lens magnified
we maybe got a fire here!
out of control!

It sorta just came out -
Swept by the hot winds (and no time to shoot the breeze)
Buffeted by electrical storms
everywhere she touched,

I whispered, so lowly it shook my guts
I whispered, "I love you,"
- and she was well pleased.

Copyright; S. Sorrensen