Unreciprocated

Unreciprocated

The next day

and I feel spent as a whore.

The scent of your sex

sits heavy on my face.

I wash and wash

but the ghost smell on my

fingers remind me of

how I probed your ass. And

of how you wouldn’t touch

me. I sit at my desk with an

erection. Remembering. And

wishing it to fall.

From "The Candied Road Ahead: Poems and Stories" available in print or Kindle here. copyright Robert P. Langdon.

Image from Jyisfree