The Bet…
* by Levar Chase *
I sensed the set-up of a sabotage
when you slipped into my section,
Soft sex wrapped succulent smoothness,
Smelling of caramel and sage.
Salvaging my sagaciousness
I look away for my own sake
but my self control
has betrayed me.
My mind is no longer my sanctuary.
My body seeks sanction
to sample your sap.
It’s sweet scent slices my saneness
Shhhhhiiiiiiii…
Your satin touch is scary.
Sovereign eyes
scan my scatterbrained thoughts like scripts.
Spellbound by your sparkle and splendor;
sprinkling my spirits with your speech
and a spot of sake,
“But what about the bet?” you ask.
It’s no secret between us.
You’ve securely planted the seeds of seduction.
My imagination steams with thoughts of secretion,
sold to the sensation of what you’re selling.
I’m sensitive to your sensuality,
struggling to separate from this session.
I don’t think you overstand
the seriousness of this situation.
How ready to succumb to your service I am.
How ready
to settle
into the role of submissive servant I am.
Shackle me to your shape and sexuality.
Shhhhhiiiiiiii…
I’m in shambles.
“But you’ll lose the bet” you say.
I’m trying to shake the shame,
shelve images of sexual intercourse.
But I’m shell-shocked,
searching for shelter and
the shimmer of your smile offers none.
Your eyes showcase siamese shooting stars.
Slowly sliding closer to my side,
I swear when our lips touch
it’s a sign for you to sigh.
Suddenly,
it becomes significant that the t.v. signed off.
Lights and shadows enslaved by your silhouette.
It’s becoming self-evident
I can’t sustain this self-denial
(which of course is no self defense)
Shhhhhiiiiiiii…
My words slurring
I can feel you smirking.
“But I know you haven’t forgotten about the bet.” you say.
You snuggle a bit closer.
Smuggle another kiss
like it’s
some sort of sexual science.
My soldier?
Salivating to salute your sachet,
sail your silver sea of sugar
with sincere simplicity.
Hoping to spontaneously splash
in your special,
spiceful,
solution.
Simultaneously siphoning
your starchy stardom.
Saturate your satisfaction.
Shhhhhiiiiiiii…
I surrender,
softly sucking strawberry spouts.
“I win” you say.
