11/7/2017 Poetry by M. StoneGabriela Camerotti Stripped Down to Parts You claim my breasts are more than a mouthful, unimpressed with their size, the heft of them. You shudder at the five-o’-clock shadow on my shaven legs and urge me to lose twenty pounds, but you are fond of my ass. When your married friend cranes his neck, watching me leave, you strut—a tom turkey with my flesh as your tail feather display. Our last evening together, you can’t get erect a second time. You are hyperaware of being so much older, your voice quavering: baby, I’m sorry, that’s all I have for you tonight. I sigh and cease stroking your flaccid cock. It droops, beyond hope, against your thigh. Sisters palms pressed together my flesh, lukewarm yours, cool as a windowpane in early spring we judge our hands the same size--tiny for grown women this: our only likeness head/ heart/ life lines, coiled snakes with dry bites ![]() Bio: M. Stone is a bookworm, birdwatcher, and stargazer who writes poetry while living in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in San Pedro River Review, SOFTBLOW, Calamus Journal, and numerous other print and online journals. She can be reached at writermstone.wordpress.com. Comments are closed.
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