4/16/12

Meat Needs
By Gemma Illovsky


Another day of polishing meat to pictures of the ones that got away, the ones I wanted and lost. Another day of spreading thighs in my mind and taking over and over again the ones the wife hates, just because she hates them. I think about the soft, cool curves of flesh, the need, the scent, the sounds, the way each one might move under me, around me. I call out names, names not hers, names she doesn't hear because she's gone, chasing her insecurities on the swinging arms of an elliptical instead of enjoying life, enjoying marriage, enjoying me.

The meat of me quakes and shudders with each release, each imagined impregnation, each snaring of self in a web of impossible indecency. I need this. I need this. I think, but I never allow it, never allow it past my mind, no matter how much I may want it, no matter how real the fantasies of lusty lovemaking might blind me, bind me in the darkness of momentary bliss.

I think, I fantasize, but I never do. I never reach, touch.

For now.


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Gemma is a student at UKY in Lexington. She has three dogs and a hamster named Amos.