Jessica M. Torrence

Going to Bed after Work

Early afternoon, just home from rush-hour
Traffic in my chamber. 
I am bedpost bound,
My potential energy like caged steam
I need to blow.
The cars move in and out
Of lanes curved like backseat covers.
30, 45 minute man of the bottom,
Any position I want because I like it fast.
Chemicals strain to break free the air,
Handcuffed hands from tortured
Pleasure. Bang!
The door, the chemicals,
The slamming of bodies in desperation,
Energy changing into other forms,
Sparks like newlyweds trying
New positions in the kitchen.
Chemistry, skin against skin
In sheathing lubrication.
Creation and destruction are impossible,
But sexual heat flows in waves,
Life pools, 8-inches deep,
Porn poetry and truth.
Legs crossed over his back,
Jolts from the work of long days alone
Released from his ability to move,
Kinetic agility of passion. 
He’s hard. I’m wet. 
On the protected mattress, 
Mom’s soft cotton linen. 
Now it’s white on white 
After panting and begging.
Heat waves fall against his naked sweat,
Two surfaces – our surfaces – sliding.
My residual sex, sheets of smoke
Fermenting from heat.
I am released, energy charged 
From this afternoon sex.

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