& Wouldn’t That Be So Nice?

sweater sweet with apricots, just ripened from their branch

the same cashmere that swaddles his shoulders will her,

once they retreat to that place with a view of the park,

the one waiting to be filled with their aching bodies.

he looks at her like clouds parting.

everything is silent save for his laugh &

his hands &

the roll of expensive tires over asphalt.

she crosses & uncrosses her legs,

the ones that belong to him, idly

in the meantime, between endings &

the rest of their lives.

but her legs, those ones that seduce him so easily, are

also rioting under the table when the white sun looks

like her mother’s face just after a dip in the pool

& she thinks of all the versions of herself

her friends prefer to attend their dinner parties

over the one who bathes her limbs in ennui

at that restaurant with the overpriced wagyu.

the sun winks at her &

his hand slides up her leg

like the june breeze to a bay

& it feels so good.

it feels so good to feel something good that she forgets everything,

everything save for his hands &

her body, her legs

like two wicks to kindle.

with her unopened mouth, she asks

if he will devour her after his plate is wiped clean