Emma is alone and agitated,
wondering how two weeks
of amazing vacation sex left
her aching to be filled, dripping
to be lovingly teased and tormented
until she begs for more, primal
noises she does not recognize
declare her unslaked need.

Emma leaves her disheveled bed,
seeking comfort downstairs
she pauses in her descent,
remembering the afternoon
he raced her up those stairs,
catching her just as she came
to the third step, leaping on her back
as a cheetah takes down a gazelle,
his teeth finding the nape of her neck,
his cock, guided by her hand, pushes
her heart aside with a single deep thrust.

Emma trembles anew with
the power of the arrogant prick
that disrupted her life, her persistent
ache requires her loving partner’s
endless kisses and familiar taste,
her deft touch and easy pace,
to deliver the perfect satisfaction known
only to women who love women.
Why is she wet to her knees and still
feeling the displacement of his cock?

Poem by Auguste Hand
Illustration by Mat Twassel and Auguste Hand
based on a painting by Harry Holland