Shedding
When we first started seeing each other – naked – it was as simple as opening my door.
I opened my door and you slipped through. You took your hand, placed it on the frame,
turned your body thin-ways, let your nose carve through. The wooden floors were
surprised: another pair of shoes. Your shirt came off, landed casually, comfortably, at
home on my washing basket. Then your hand was on your belt; unclicked, it fell slack.
Unbuttoned, your jeans went. Then there were boxer shorts, tightly checked ones.
I pulled the curtains; the cabbage tree had caught us. I hope it didn’t see your penis.
But how could it not? Your penis was everywhere; a tall pink beacon in my room.
I opened my door and you slipped through. You took your hand, placed it on the frame,
turned your body thin-ways, let your nose carve through. The wooden floors were
surprised: another pair of shoes. Your shirt came off, landed casually, comfortably, at
home on my washing basket. Then your hand was on your belt; unclicked, it fell slack.
Unbuttoned, your jeans went. Then there were boxer shorts, tightly checked ones.
I pulled the curtains; the cabbage tree had caught us. I hope it didn’t see your penis.
But how could it not? Your penis was everywhere; a tall pink beacon in my room.