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Rival For His Affection
Tempted. I'm sorely tempted. Watching those shapes his clothes make when he strains to bale the hay. The way he smiles as he catches my eye and I shyly look away.
Adonis in jeans and cotton shirt. Not bothered by sweat and dirt. See how hot the blazing sun, whilst rabbits rest and birds are done, he strips down. His blond hair catches the light like a golden crown.
Yes she is comely, that brings him drink and food. A country girl who knows their ways. Rosy cheeks and a smile, as hypnotizing as her hip sways, alluringly. But he's still looking at me.
The scythes are idle in the fields. The harvest partly gathered, even bees yield, it's too much for the workers. In sea green eyes I deeply slate my thirst.
Her plump breasts block his view. Flirtatious banter, yeah she knows what to do. Cosying up to him, little touches and long lashes thin. She's Venus, a flytrap and he's falling in.
And I would those calloused hands were on me. A thousand words I've spoken with just the looks I gave intentionally. We have traded stories and confessions, shared more than sex, but I wonder if she suspects?
How dry her hair the colour of Autumn leaves. How pale her skin, thighs like trunks of trees and far too brazen. But alas it's not at me he's gazing. He's hooked. I shouldn't have looked.
I admire her confidence. I should learn from the lessons she'll dispense. See it, want it, take it like plucking ripe grapes from the vine. Intoxicated by her, she's like wine. Full bodied and red.
I wish that she was dead. I wish she'd crawl from his bed and stagger home in shame feeling used. Alas she's not that kind, not a prude. Let her fall into the threshing machine, feed next year's crop with her flesh, juicy and unclean.
And he will forget her and move on. She's like the next dawn, enjoy then gone. I will have my chance, I must bide my time. He looks over, is that a sign? I don't know. How many more torturous hours to go?
The whistle blows and we're back to the chore. I'm three rows away, I wish I could say, there's a certain someone I adore. The insects chatter, it really don't matter, my voice is internal and as dry as straw.
© .Garry Saunders
Adonis in jeans and cotton shirt. Not bothered by sweat and dirt. See how hot the blazing sun, whilst rabbits rest and birds are done, he strips down. His blond hair catches the light like a golden crown.
Yes she is comely, that brings him drink and food. A country girl who knows their ways. Rosy cheeks and a smile, as hypnotizing as her hip sways, alluringly. But he's still looking at me.
The scythes are idle in the fields. The harvest partly gathered, even bees yield, it's too much for the workers. In sea green eyes I deeply slate my thirst.
Her plump breasts block his view. Flirtatious banter, yeah she knows what to do. Cosying up to him, little touches and long lashes thin. She's Venus, a flytrap and he's falling in.
And I would those calloused hands were on me. A thousand words I've spoken with just the looks I gave intentionally. We have traded stories and confessions, shared more than sex, but I wonder if she suspects?
How dry her hair the colour of Autumn leaves. How pale her skin, thighs like trunks of trees and far too brazen. But alas it's not at me he's gazing. He's hooked. I shouldn't have looked.
I admire her confidence. I should learn from the lessons she'll dispense. See it, want it, take it like plucking ripe grapes from the vine. Intoxicated by her, she's like wine. Full bodied and red.
I wish that she was dead. I wish she'd crawl from his bed and stagger home in shame feeling used. Alas she's not that kind, not a prude. Let her fall into the threshing machine, feed next year's crop with her flesh, juicy and unclean.
And he will forget her and move on. She's like the next dawn, enjoy then gone. I will have my chance, I must bide my time. He looks over, is that a sign? I don't know. How many more torturous hours to go?
The whistle blows and we're back to the chore. I'm three rows away, I wish I could say, there's a certain someone I adore. The insects chatter, it really don't matter, my voice is internal and as dry as straw.
© .Garry Saunders
