My Girlfriends Always Ask…
…why must I meet him in
the sleazy Dew Drop Inn?
Where the beds are always
unmade… off white, and
reek of that dollar store
brand of laundry detergent.
They wonder, why I love,
knowing we won’t be doing
that much sleeping. I wait
for him to reopen me up,
just like the curtains, so
much sunlight showing
my new wax line, leaning
on the side of the sheets,
in his favorite position,
I can feel the hunger
of his afternoon appetite
rising, his bifocal glasses
fogging when I slowly slide
off my stockings rolled up
knee-high, rubbing together
so much friction between
us as he reaches over,
his ravenous grip so familiar…
I once called him my husband,
thanks to my Mission Viejo
lawyer, now we are only just
lovers estranged, already
signed those papers, nothing
connecting us, but I still need
the way that he feels inside
me, love the way, I can still
make him rise gavel hard
like he did underneath
his three-piece suit during
divorce court, I want
the way he craves me
my ex finally sees
the one he desires,
as I dial him
with my pinky
finger, demanding
he devour my most
private space when he
licks me up like eating
his favorite dessert
my cherry jubilee, only
more creamy, room
serviced on these dirty
sheets, my goal before
I sneak out is to try to make
them even filthier than
when we came. My work
friends never understand
why we try to feel, reaching
for these flickering sparks
that once set our flame,
not just familiar, the way
he reignites my skin, always
feels like the first and last
time, and I will even put
my sticky hand on that bed
stand bible and testify, no
longer need to wait for him
to start snoring when he’s
finished I just roll over,
slip on my Forever 21
cocktail dress with nothing
else underneath, always
exposing my tingling
like a polyester stained
bride, when I stroll out
bare feet, red shiny high
heels on my fingers, in love
with the feeling—every time,
he still can hardly resist me.
“Consider This”
He can tell instantly
as this siren leads
him
slowly inside her
hotel room, no introductions
necessary for this night
cap, seeing her poetry nook
kindling on the nightstand
recognizing she
has a name resounding
of Clapton’s most
famous guitar lick, she
instantly directs him
to come here and eat,
to explore every beat
of rhythm, already he can
tell she is not looking
for lipstick kisses, as her
hands love pressing his head
down, lower
instructing him
to land between her
softest of thighs, she can
feel his face flow deeper
into her flow, already
dripping
so quickly her hips
hum, this tender
tinder moment—
almost… could she
already in love
with his tongue? She
longs to find out
his most delicious talents
as she craves
for him to discover
her most favorite
of flavor, like
licking an ice cream
cone melting in
the creamiest of plates,
he devours her loudly.
not leaving a morsel,
so, thoughtful this
cunning romantic
linguist not saying much
but speaking only
with his charming licks,
as he treats her
delicious lips to speak
back gushing in
the most delectable
dialects, moans
and whispers, his stickiest
mouth attracts
snatching the tastiest
oral fixation, before
the climax, he loves
the way she mouths,
legs spread tightly
around his neck,
clutching for breaths
knowing this
rendezvous is their first
and last night together—
still, she is already
hooked on his most
sensual soliloquys
between her hips… still
guiding him as she
bellows taste all of me.
He’s addicted
breathlessly gasping
when she’s grinding her
self below, worshiping
the curls she dangles,
teasing the succulence of her
sweetest friction… savor
me, she deliciously
demands, he continues
devouring all she
desires, never tiring
as his endless licking
exposes her cravings
even more, like
his wife, she
proudly commands: I’ll tell you
when you’ve had enough.
Biography
Adrian Ernesto Cepeda is the author of Flashes & Verses… Becoming Attractions from Unsolicited Press, Between the Spine from Picture Show Press and La Belle Ajar from CLASH Books. His poetry has been featured in Harvard Palabritas, Glass Poetry: Poets Resist, Cultural Weekly, Yes, Poetry, Frontier Poetry, The Fem, poeticdiversity, Rigorous, Luna Luna Magazine, The Wild Word, The Revolution Relaunch and Palette Poetry.
Adrian is an Angelino Poet who lives with his wife and their adorably spoiled cat Woody Gold in Los Angeles. More about him can be found on his website.
“Everywhere I go I find a poet has been there before me.”
― Sigmund Freud