Afternoon With Mrs. Sanders

Afternoon with Mrs. Sanders

Her smock flakes off onto
the ebony tile floor.
Reading his face she
giggles; it has been a long time since any man
admired her glow.

She plugs his lips with two of
her fingers and pins him down onto
the clay and paint mosaic table.

Her skin glitters with sweat beneath
the fluorescent tubes hanging from
the ceiling. The window permits a small
breeze which meticulously sculpts their contours.

Her spine arches upward.
Her desperation is expelled, little by little,
through a melody of sighs and groans.
Bodies shifting and pulsing to the
rhythm of the world.
Skin brushing against skin,
creating new steam with each passing second.

She is of no ordinary mold, he thinks.
She is a masterpiece,
a pure Picasso.

In the upper corner of the room,
a spider preys on a fly.
The fly sees no real reason
to resist.