Combustible by Robert Beveridge

Combustible by Robert Beveridge-d


Hum of the vibrator inside you
as fingers quicken, strong against
your clitoris. You feel the first
orgasm build, close your eyes.
Your face’s normal smile transforms
eyelids clench, mouth half-open
an oval of ragged-breathed transport
to some faraway world, black yet
endlessly pleasurable. The wave
crests, and your whimpers
and whispers of “fuck yes, fuck me”
elide into wordless cries
of oblivion, ecstasy. Hair
cascades over your face,
intense concentration rides
your features, you cry again
and again, orgasm after orgasm
tears through you with the force
of Chicago fires, San Francisco
earthquakes. I can only watch
in awe, wish I were a good
enough cinematographer
to capture this moment forever.

©Robert Beveridge 2016


Robert Beveridge makes noise ( and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Chiron Review, Poetry Breakfast, and Third Wednesday, among others.

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