Thursday, February 17, 2011

Sharon Lynne Thompson


Beach fog glazes the window. I dance for you within the warm room, pounding lust the only music. Music enough for bare feet on pine ...wood floor to recognize movement, to invent a stomp, yield a slide. Wall after wall passing as I whirl. Easy to lift my red summer skirt for you, easy to feel beautiful, tan thighs a trophy to bestow. Skirt bunched in fingers, easy to tease up inch by inch, up and even higher, the only step left raising the soft fabric over my head. Easy to drop the rippled fabric like something molten at my ankles, leaving me wilder. Unfinished. Lace panties remain. Sheer blouse clinging to shoulders. Lace bra cupping breasts. My dance spinning forward. You shift, closing in. Whisking my white blouse high and off. Chests almost flesh to flesh, small bits of light cloth still playing coy. Our arms touching high, flexing, and high. I catch the scent of you. You moving easily with me. Circling. Mouths open to each other. Breathing for each other. Your last bit of clothing, my last bit of clothing--undone. Gone. Still in circles, spinning until we drop to the floor. You grabbing my skirt; a pillow for my head. Me, wet, lifting open for you. Your hard curve ready to slide in and deep. And deep. Still a dance. Easy to learn this newly joined pace and tempo. Fused, plunging, pushing, dancing. The fog at the window now a heavy drape. Our bodies, our throats, music enough. Music enough.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Lori Wall-Holloway


I rearrange heirlooms inside a hutch
so their beauty can be seen through the glass –
Clear crystal, bone china teacups
with flowers painted on them
along with antique plates passed
down through the generations.

Over and over I arrange the items, much
like how I attempt to organize my life.
So it looks perfect. So it looks just right…

Periodically, thoughts clutter my head
with where I failed and made mistakes.
A feeling of rejection appears from
deep in the recesses of my brain
as I replay a moment with a person
that kicks off a memory of the past.

A tape plays inside my mind
that binds me -
“I can’t be perfect if I’m a failure.”

Instead of moving forward,
I procrastinate. I’m on the fence.
Why risk anymore rejection?
Why reach out to another again?
Fear locks me in.
Giving up altogether
seems like a better choice.

Yes, I’ll just give up until –

A realization dawns as my
heart and mind are challenged
with false beliefs of myself
versus what is real.

Who am I really?
Not what you want me to be.
I don’t need to be perfect
for your validation.

The One who created me
will still love and value me,
even when I make mistakes.

I take a deep breath
And repeat to myself –
“Let my good be good enough,”
as I straighten a picture
on a crooked wall.