Awakening/A rousing

he surfaced

quickly

emerging

abruptly

from the

lower levels of

deeper sleep

back creaking with the

ancient four poster

as he craned his neck

and stretched his torso

to see the clock

and be pleasantly

surprised to find

he had slept long

and probably well.

rain water was

dripping through

downspouts

outside and

tire treads

hummed

intermittent

drenched drones

on the

wet roadbed

of the

curved street

in front.

the room was

dim with

clouded early light

from the

drizzly morning

and the air

damply chilly

beyond the snug

cocoon of blankets

that draped the bed

in heavy layers. 

she was lying

voluptuously

mounded

on her side

asleep

facing away

next to him

soundlessly

still:

immediately

present and

fathoms away.

and turning

to view her

he felt his

already swollen

self rub/ache

entangled tight

against his

pajama pants:

a swollen

restrained

prisoner

from murky

morning

phantasms.

carefully

and very

cautiously

he reached down

to soundlessly

free himself

loosen

and push

down his

bottoms

then

yank

slow motion

over

and up

his top

thrilling

himself

to the chill

of bare skin

against

cool sheets

and the hard

exuberance

of being

all at once

excitedly awake.

he

ever so

tentatively

inched toward her

delicately

firmly and

very so

softly

touching

his palms

against her

flannelled

bottom

and caressing

her cheeks

slowly and

carefully

beginning to

knead

exceedingly

gradually

wandering

with

inexorable

glacial

purpose

up her back

with thumbs

gently

pressing

and

creeping

infinitesimally

along

her spine

bringing

fingers

finally

finely

to play

a soft

gentle tune

at the base

line

of her neck

with a

slow

rhythmic

hands.

and

she

emerged

in stages

with

harmonious

but

barely

perceptible

groans

eliding

into

quiet

melodious

moans

morphing

into

sweet

groggy

sighs

exhaled

during

long

reaching

stretches

and

then

as if

all at once

ready

she

slipped

back

her

leg

to reach out

her foot

and snag/

touch

his toes

with hers.

signaled

and delighted

he reached down

and grabbing

the hem

of her

night gown

pulled

strongly up

yanking past

her hips as she

raised them

just

enough

in time to

ease the glide

and all at once

he slid himself

up against her

skins colliding

in mini spasm

of startlebody

delight

nerve endings

rubbing and

sparking

another

awakening

celebration

beginning

to rouse

them both

again

Paul Bukovec

             

abreasting

following contours

noticing curves

peeking between openings

watching for the bounce

fixated in the cleavage crevice 

wondering over the what’s under

imagining the shapes

excited by the possibilities

working hands around slowly towards

brushing over clothes

feeling through sensuous fabrics

fumbling through buttons for

unhooking to get to

reaching in or under at

groping quite excitedly

touching thrillingly the bare skin of

scooping carefully out and up

freeing from underwire

holding caressingly cupped

(each hand full of soft comfort)

from behind

seeing full frontal hanging free

(pendulant, yet pointing)

or in repose sunny side up

(high contrasting yokes against

the creamy soft whites)

grasped fully

(fingers firmly tight

right round,

and the brown nubs

darkly firming)

licked lightly

sucked softly

or nipple pressed

tenderly

between mouth roof

and tongue tip,

or nibbled

ever so carefully

with restrained teeth

or strummed

by gently flickering

feathering fingers

or fingerprint ridges

softly rubbing

the bumpily rims

of the swollen aureoles

or her hardening tips

barely tickled

against my taut palms

or against the fuzz

and tender skin

of my inner forearm

or so slightly squeezing

each nip between thumb

and forefinger

till it is erect and urgent

or slathering each glistening boob

in slick sleek saliva

(luxuriating in the lapping lust)

or my year old baby face

shmeered in the birthday cake

of her sweet creamy breast

or she dragging the tippy tips of her tits

barely across my naked chest

and down my stomach

and against my saluting penis

or her pressing

her well oiled

mammaries

hard against

me all over

and

me

grabbing those

wondrously

titillating

capped mounds

(whilst my

spasmodic thumbs 

caress

slippery buttons)

and I convulse

ecstatically

inside her 

paul bukovec

Our feast of Comfort Foods

Our loaves stacked against each other

crusty outsides and piping hot soft centers

on the broad table full of party feast dishes:

my kielbasa nestled amidst your pierogies

browned in butter almost crunchy

your rump roast alongside my loin of pork

with soft mounds of creamy potatoes

slathered in gravy

your hot tamale and my Chile releno

swimming in salsa roja

on a bed of dirty rice

your chicken with dumplings

my shank of lamb with baby reds 

your meat balls

my sausage

our saucy tagliatella pasta

and paella

and osso buco

and nasi goring

and poached pears

crème Brule

leeches in sweet syrup

flan

and deep dark coffee

with heavy cream

P B 2008

Spoons

S shaped

snug hugging

back to front

skin on skin

arms encircling

breasts cupped and caressed

she leaning back

and he leaning in

cock nestled softly and

very hard

in the crack in

her ass

and their faces

and cheeks

rubbing

and purring

and nuzzling both

body

and

soul

completely

pleasing…

p bukovec

                     

forehimplay

she grabs

his soft cock

firmly and warmly

(her hands

have a knowing

grip: a familiar

homey feel)

round the shaft

down

then

pulling

gently up

the loose skin

and reaching

underneath

to greet his

scrotum

which tightens

as the rod

begins to swell

against

the warmth

of her

hands

up and out.

(excruciating

swell

blood beating

pause)

she then

pumps

the action,

loading the

shotgun,

and the head

pulses full

and red

and shiny.

she looks

down and smiles

delighted at

her work,

eyes twinkling

teeth glimmering

just before

her head falls

(cascading hair)

and her mouth

gorges on his

joyfully

bloodrushed

bone

Paul Bukovec

          bits that stick

jewish lore and deep fried artichokes and the perils of sharp points in  dish washers or the consequence of salt on scrambling eggs and the color blue  and guard cats and gross beaks and nut hatches and tufted tit mice and olga’s bras and childhood stories of minihapolis

and climbing in ralph stover or boating on  golden pond or camping at  haystacks or birding on the chesapeake or being on the beach at night in mexico or skinny dipping in the quarry in vermont and so many walks in the wissahickon and bread and puppet or eating through the menu in the cafe in merrida

and agonizing on the phone again and popping up again and watching the sixers and isla muheres  and people talking to us like we were some old married couple and the audubon homestead 

and the doip noise from the o shaped lips (when finger snapped taut cheeks) and singing show tunes driving and clothes shopping and food talk and legs propped by pillows in the night and nice night gowns and george jenson and george michaels and never gonna dance again...

and dancing again at parties or watching at dance class and meeting on the center city train platform  and cakes from zakes and special dinners and the velveteen rabbit and your dark curly hair

and lust on the countertop or tearing through under things or being waylaid down the hall in the bath room or taking turns at different  roles and afternoon rendezvous and fucking standing on the bed against the wall on upsal or holding on to each other in the A frame under the stars or looking down at you with me in your mouth in the motel near the art museum

or teaching that temple class together or the sailing lesson in nh or browsing for crafts or arguing for hospitality with the mexican airline officials or eating egg mcmuffins in a hotel room in washington  and shvitzing in the communal sauna at marion’s and passover at jack and debbies and meeting mr k in my bathing suit and mrs k lifting my rug to check the knots

and the emergency room ordeal in rutland and house sitting and the ladies room break at rollers just after the big announcement

and breaking up and trying more and hanging on to threads and losing the ends and  the spark being gone in your eyes

and remembering with such sad longing wistfulness how it was and wasn’t the very best and most impossibly passionate and partially/wholly imperfect bluperfect time

Paul Bukovec