BoJenn
At midnight,
beneath night-blooming hibiscus,
we wander through the garden
with our fingers intertwined—
two quiet conspirators
beneath a moon that knows too much.
Then he stops.
He turns,
finds my eyes in the darkness,
and holds them there
until I forget how to look away.
Without apology,
his mouth takes mine—
boldly parting my lips,
stealing the breath
I had meant to use
to tell him no.
The heat of his body
swelters against my heart,
and it stumbles, skips,
then races to catch itself.
My thighs begin to tremble
with the dangerous honesty
of desire.
Some part of me wants to stop him.
Or perhaps
it only wants to want to.
Inside me, the battle rages:
the lady guarding her good name
against the wanton woman
who would gladly scatter
every rule among the hibiscus
and let the night have her.
My reputation stands trembling
beside my restraint.
What should she choose—
ladylike resistance
and the spotless emptiness
of what might have been,
or one forbidden memory
to keep her warm
when she is old?
She chooses the memory.
And beneath those midnight blossoms,
with his breath still upon her lips,
I think
she chooses correctly.
My Near Death Experience Arts and Thoughts. By Bonnie Jennings 