fallen verses

Run

Two miles behind us, we collapse against the side of the car, pant,
Suck air into our abused lungs.
I fumble for the keys, pull out a lukewarm bottle of water you quickly drain.

Head thrown back, your body is like a taut bow-string.
Your lycra-clad thighs quiver with tension.
Sweat pools behind your sports bra,
and above your lip.

You toss the quickly emptied bottle
And I step forward to taste the salt-water of your sweat.
For the moment I confine myself to your lips-
Our pulses already race and pump endorphins
we ride like rockets.

Soon, I will draw a hot shower and we will rub the tension from our weary bodies.
I will taste, then, the sweat on your breasts
And unwrap your lycra-clad thighs
And again our pulses will race.