The Right One

No longer present despite the
press of pliable flesh.
A multiverse of outcomes
expands before my mind.
Primed for impact,
a cotton-cloth barrier is all
that stands between
pulsing passion and penetration.

With legs entwined in
tangled sheets of coastal blue,
she is a mermaid underwater;
the ebb and flow, her desire.
Her hair is an auburn fan resting
upon the pillowcase.
Lying bare to the world, she smiles;
apprehension applied as eyeliner.

“What are you thinking?”
she asks as I back away;
retreating into the safety of myself.
I match her smile, and
refrain from the true answer:
“You’re not the right one.”

by Erik Shinker

The Hurting

I was searching for someone to
trace my history through
fingerprint and dermal imperfection.

We would read the scars on one another’s
bodies like Braille; telling
the stories of our hurts and
those who cut and carved into our memories.
Seldom forgiven;
never forgotten.

A blind hope we wouldn’t be doing the
same damn thing in a couple of
years with other lovers;
telling them about the
last time we allowed ourselves to
be vulnerable, and the
hurting that followed.

by Erik Shinker

As If

I dream of sticky lips
in poised and yearning embrace.
Tongues teased to taste
a single drop of splendor.

Palms gliding in soft,
urgent pressure.
Hard and soft, diametrically opposed yet
natural in their coupling.

The words themselves causing excitement
from nipple to navel, through
thigh and ascended, blushing cheeks.

An ideal of intimacy with
partnership past the simplicity of
laying lovers.

As if such things could
be made manifest simply by my
wishing.

by Erik Shinker

Thrust and Flutter

Yearning for release will bypass
apprehension.

A revelation in our intermingling;
when thrust and flutter
peel back our intricacies and rip
at the scabs of bitter romance
until taste slips sour
with the coupling of each kiss.

A beard brushing
amongst such soft skin
would bring about welcomed abrasion
until our cup runs over and,
amid that embraced conception,
the lingering question
of

“what comes next?”

remains.

by Erik Shinker