Matrix

by Gail Rae Hudson
(1/31/01)

6 x 6 - 5
I said I liked the smell
of leather but that's not
what you asked.  You asked if
I like leather.  I do.
And the smell of leather.
ask me.  Go ahead and  

8 x 8 - 7
Blue buys nothing.  So blue is bought
to hold everything.  And nothing's
caught when the wanting is to shed
slacks of blue this side of black.  You
pull the blankets back.  Then the robe
is dropped, light blue, beside the bed.
In blue it rests, and comes alive
in the dark.  Blue blood turning red.  

10 x 10 - 6
Michael never came easily.  Clumsy
with blood and granite, he'd brace against my
pivoting slick and plead catastrophes
to wear him down.  I kept my spirit small
with breeze and drizzle, with evolution
chiseling boulders to excruciate
balance.  Smoothing ridges.  Trickling into
gorges.  Depositing on oily swamps.
I came for a moment with the mayflies.
Michael never came easily.  Clumsy

©2001 by Gail Rae Hudson

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Gail Rae Hudson has been writing since before she could read. She enjoys writing in a variety of styles and genres including essay, erotic fiction, light fiction and poetry.  She lives, reluctantly, in Mesa and Prescott, Arizona, and dreams of living, once again, in Washington on the Pacific Northwest Coast. Visit her erotic fiction web site, Shenar's Adventures.