The Scent of Lust

I sit in my office

a broom closet with blank, gray walls

dignified by a sign bearing my name

that graces the door.

The scarred wood of the desk

grazes my skin

as I lean on my elbows.

My eyes ache

from prolonged exposure

to comma splices

and misplaced modifiers.

The slam

of the hall door

shatters the silence

and I glance up

to find you

leaning against my door.

The sleeves of your collared shirt

are rolled up

and my gaze lingers

on the Celtic cross tattoo

etched into the

tanned skin of your forearm.

You speak

in a voice like melted chocolate.

“I wonder if there’s a place in Hell for crimes committed against grammar.”

Amusement sparkles

In your eyes.

“Well,” I reply,

“there’s always the curse of the red pen.”

I twirl that instrument

between my fingers

strike out a thesis statement

pause for a moment

to watch the conflagration.

I rub my temples;

press the palms

of my hands against

my closed eyelids.

When I raise my head

you stand there still

arms folded

across your chest

sultry smile snaking

its way across your face.

“I can see you’re absorbed, but before I go, there’s something I have to tell you.”

You move

into the room;

the door shuts

with a definite click.

You place the palms of

your hands on the desk

and tilt your head

toward me

wisps of dark hair

falling

into your gray eyes.

My blood tingles

With electricity.

“I’m expecting a student in half an hour.”

You answer

By covering my mouth with yours.

Your arm encircles me

Pressing me against your chest

and I can feel

your pounding heart;

a wild bird beating

its wings

against its confinement.

The heat

In your touch

Kindles

The flame in my soul;

Blood

and bone

and brain ignite

and I am consumed.

The feline creature inside me

so long unfed

awakens and claws

its way out

at the scent of lust.

Your eyes smolder

and I ask myself

if playing with fire

is worth the risk

of being burned.

The creature inside me

rears on its hind legs

and lets forth

a primal cry

that sends a shudder

through my body.

“We’ll go to Hell,” I whisper

As I curl myself

into the circle of your arm.

You give me

a twisted smile.

“We’re damned anyway.”

And when I kiss you,

I allow myself to taste

the exotic elixir

that bubbles on your tongue.