he is the neatnik of her dreams,
natty in his dark-wash jeans.
a brown heather sweater vest over
a sky-blue button down and under
an elbow-patched tweed blazer.
a bow-tie would be overkill, which he clearly knows;
so he tops it off with argyle socks
and a sharp but casual
He wonders what it would be like to undo each button to discover the underneath. Not the undergarments; his momma raised him to never overtly wonder what lies beneath a woman’s clothing, especially not to himself. What he would like to find is the way in which the rib cage sits upon the vertebral column; to stroke the xiphoid process gently. To find the swell of stomach as it peeks from under its bony confine in the left quadrant. He knows she’s just eaten, so it will be easily palpated.
she cannot avert her eyes,
beneath thick lashes she spies.
he wears horn-rimmed glasses over
grey-hazel pupils and under
the brim of his hat.
a flash of desire.
a pick-up line would be cliché, which he clearly knows;
so he gives her a meaningful look
and a smile that’s no teeth
just dimples and laugh lines.
Later, after he’s disinfected his artists tools, rinsing the last of her essence away, he ponders what will come next, if there is a next. She told him everything he wanted to know, maybe not in words, but in the symphony of her musculature. Her delicate sinews and surprisingly sturdy bones. The slow thrum of her heart as its rhythm petered out and the four chambers deflated, slack but still meaty. The revelation was so satisfying and his spirit was so full that he could feel it, substantial enough to be touched.
©mariah voutilainen 2018
so if you thought this was strangely satisfying, you can read things more and less unusual on mariah’s blog (re)imagining the mundane.