August 2001 / Volume Two / Issue Two
Larry Griffin
Which is Exactly What I Do the
Very Night I Return to the States

Another night . . . inhaling her perfume,
pleasures, in the king size bed at the Excelsior . . .
"We'll always have that weekend in Little Rock."
That night you tell her your fantasy:
Yourself in bed with two beautiful women,
who both look just like her, of course.
Black women whom you loved, you dream of them
that night, but the erection with which you awake
she blows you to remove:
Oh, you are so satisfied
as you tour the Old State House
and review the renderings
of the Thorncrown Chapel.

I invited her to meet me at lunch
at my house on Bissextile Day-
there we fucked and gave ourselves
the glow and glory of that nooner,
possible only every four years, and
inserted a memory into our lives
to recall some four years whence
my erection will thereafter become
an icon of an earlier time together.

It was late, then and the moon
shone through the window . . .  in the living room
I pulled off her skirt and dress
. .  .  she wore no panties.  I unhooked her bra

as I lowered her onto the Chinese carpet
where I thrust into her until she came screaming
hopeful obscenities high up the fourteen-foot walls.

Then I continued until her
breathing evened out again,
so that before I could ejaculate
into the full heat of her vagina
she pulled me out and into her
mouth where I came to her joy
and with a content that never left her.
As she swallowed . . "Hey, I love
the taste of you . . . and I don't want
to ever stop . . . Yeah, you know I'm
talking to you . . . Look, you're hard again
in my hand, so please follow me
to the bathroom.  I have to go."

You follow her to the bathroom,
watch her pee as you finish a story-

In this one you are in love with a French
woman who prefers that you know her
every orifice each time she takes you down.

After she finishes and before she rises,
she reaches out and takes my penis-

pulls me closer to her and
takes me again in her mouth-

I did not know I'd come again-

June.  Dyersburg.  Birds sing above
the hum of the window unit
air conditioner . . .
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