Furtive Pursuits

We all suck a teat for comfort

tongue thrusting

drag, pull, siphon whatever’s available

mew, grunt, yip at competition

mouths stuffed, eyes reach sideways

all of us. Every one

sucks some teat

in pursuit of some comfort

.

I suck from a wrangler.

sunset, night dressed

shouldered in restless anguish

anticipation of the moment

when day doses

into slumber

Engine illuminated under exposed bulb screwed

into the ceiling

elevated doors, by hand, in secret

Lip bites, tisked teeth, fingernail chewed to internal debate

Lips pucker

Pointer draws round and round gear shift

Last time. Promised.

.

Click.

release of emergency brake

Tongue roofs mouth as

foot smashes petal

With a spark, motor floods rushes of blood

Gear stick maneuvered down, then up

Lights don’t turn on

Until we’ve round the corner

Last time.

whispered in oath

Wind runs strands through hair

Air gasped and held

against acceleration

Floorboards exposed, cold

plays tiny shivers cross flesh

Mouth saturated

We all suck some teat

in pursuit of comfort

.

Mine just happens to be

on undisclosed rides

with a wrangler.

.

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