Daniel B. Silver

HANDPRINT ON THE SHOWER DOOR


 

There's a handprint on the shower door
From a recent, torrid instance of passionate amour
Bent over, you braced against the bath's steely tap
Running mascara, hot water and your voice made rasp

There are handprints on your pale cheeks
Red and tingling from happy strikes
Through gritted teeth you begged for more
Like no amount of sweet pain you could not endure

There are hand-printed bruises around your wrists
From the unyielding strength of my relentless grip
Your arms pinned back as you eagerly received
Everything that my wanton masculinity had to give

There were handfuls of your hair pulled behind
Like leather reins guiding you on an orgasmic climb
And as your climax ran through in a shuddering stream
You already knew you were allowed to scream