Sensuality's Miseducation

Yesterday I tattooed his love on my back

His butterfly landed there
I caressed him with one finger
He fluttered cyan wings
Using his greed to sing to meI puckered lips and soaked him with a kiss
He flew away stirring in the air the strong scent of desire
Leaving behind one unforgettable winter night

Must he leave and return in the spring?
Must he love only during warm seasons?
He returns to me
With whistles of a new song
Showing off his bright purple wings
Expect me to welcome him like a king

He doesn’t realize I am not the same woman he left behind
Without his lubricant touch
His salutation is the taste of stale coffee
Words like “I miss you baby” nothing more than pulp fiction
A cheap validation of bootleg words
I walk away to avoid any more heartache
Stand on the back porch watching the sunset
I confess my affliction to strangers, the birds, the clouds, and the trees
Wishing the man inside could comprehend my sensuality
©2006 Cathy Delaleu