To Bosnia

To Bosnia

 

I have a man
or rather had, a Mister from
furthest Bosnia; Eastern European
twang, short
and sturdy, massive hands
more than capable –
he was a blind date. Drinks with
Dracula

undressing him later
stocky
hairy as a bear, he
was beefy and big-armed
and reassuring. I encircled him
and sighed; happy,
found everything
much to my pleasing
especially that throaty Slavic
mumble
in my ear. No fear
of Asian – ahem – embarrassment
with him, he was
solid as a cannon, and went off
like one too
boom!

Ah, Bosnian
whose first name I am still
slightly unsure of – something
foreign, you were
all the man I needed
that night;
eyebrows bushy, tangled
sweaty and jubilant
nestled, hot and humming
with pleasure against
your barrel of a chest, I felt

what?
ecstatic! in your hard and heavy
grip, murmured
sweet, vodka-accented nasties
and nothings inside me
ah, lover
breaking away in the morning
to shower, and board your
plane back to Beijing

soon, soon
I’ll see you again,
coming for Christmas to
unwrap me early, and
I still don’t really know your name.

 

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About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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