Sweet Tea…

Like ancient Circe
against her loom
she leans on the weathered door frame

Her hand hold
her golden hair
in a heap atop her head
hoping that the warm breeze
will bring some relief to the nape of her neck

I, Odysseus-ly defenseless
against the sway of her hips
in time with the music that oozes
onto the porch from inside the house
smooth jazz from a southern phonograph

I am

desirous to be the glass of sweet tea she presses against her lips

desirous to be the golden pendant that rests between her breasts

desirous to be the sliver of ice that she traps between her teeth, to be melted by her tongue

desirous to be that drop of sweat that explores its way down her neck

With a sigh
she releases an avalanche of sun-kissed waves
down from her head
spilling over her shoulder

a razor-sharp grin
she pivots on her bare feet
and moves back inside the house
screen door banging wildly behind her

and I follow her inside
to refill my cup

and leave my glass of tea
on the porch

About Eric

Writer/Plumber/Poet/Father/Gentleman/Romantic
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15 Responses to Sweet Tea…

  1. Eric says:

    Thank you, Aurora!

  2. thebrunetteinthepinkscarf says:

    This is nice, Eric. It reminds me of summer in the south. 😊 Perhaps a move is in my future.

  3. Diana says:

    Ah. I think my sighs may be heard over the mountains.

  4. Patty says:

    O la la la 🙂 Melting over here, haha. Beautiful Eric.
    XxX

  5. Kristiana says:

    ‘Odysseus-ly defenseless’ has to be the best thing I’ve ever read. Wonderful!

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