The East Village

Edwin Torres

ONE BY ONE So, who tricks who? After I show you my bruise, you still seem surprised by my skin. After we lay on each other's tummy, you burp out silent air and shake me from a dream I was having... using your belly as a pillow. I was surrounded by a circle of legs, at each ankle lay my favorite pair of your panties. Each leg was standing solo, no body attached yet very much alive and perfect, as tall as I was. One by one, I was to go behind each knee and start my tongue. What direction I went in depended on whatever a huge loudspeaker hanging overhead would yell out. The atmosphere was electric with sex yet brutal in a work-for-hire kinda way. I was laying on top of you, our bodies intertwined. One long stroke would follow a few short ones. As we stared into our eyes, my hands were somehow holding your perfect back, we were suspended over a blanket as large as a room. I started to say something and your hand covered my mouth. I put my hand on yours to move it away from my mouth, and lost my grip you plummeted. I saw your naked body falling away from me, your hair as wild as a black parachute with silve streaks. Your hips and perfect ass a mannequin out of my reach. You landed on the blanket as I was burped awake by your belly. There is no length attached to our consumption my hunger, a constant parasite for what's just out of reach There is no curve for the name of our bodies inside you, my hands are just now in touch with this fall