Focusing on the Outbreath

Yours is soft, a rounded nub,
no bony bridge or shiny skin,
no poker resisting my advance,
no stiff horn refusing to bend
in compromise with mine.

Yours is blunt-tipped, elastic,
free to twist and turn, flex,
blend with mine,
stroke my cheek with moist exhale.

Yours breathes hot,
kinked sideways like a blower,
gracing me with dinner's garlic,
a last sip of merlot,
two pliant rims flaring.

Yours flattens gently
against, into my flesh,
gushes with an airy hum
struggling free,
peach skin edged in pink,
trembling,
insistent.

Scott Speck
01/02/2003