February 2020

Contraversion
by A.J. Huffman


His fingers find power. Points
of passion. Untouched. Previously
breathless. As he turns me
on a table. And a new space
is devoured. My body's famine
feeds. His needs. And mine,
bursting in rubbered ribbons
across the floor. I am
his mountain to break.
But my heat is liquid. Fire
in. Fire out. Creating god
in shear repetitious lust. Thrust
caution and exhaustion to the winds.
Erotic erosion is the only assault left.
On time, we beat break battle
our way over into and through
each other. We can
breathe. Only and again as

our lips realize: separate

is the only dirty word left.

About A.J. Huffman:
A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida.  She has previously 
published her work in literary journals, in the U.K. as well as America, such as Avon 
Literary Intelligencer, Eastern Rainbow, Medicinal Purposes Literary Review, The Intercultural Writer's Review, Icon, Writer's Gazette, and The Penwood Review.