French Class by Anna B. Wilkes

in a slant of afternoon the girl I loved sagged ripely over her desk

as I ravished the imprint of her bra on her back

with my eyes and ploughed them over an oval keyhole in the fabric

that framed the vertebrae with its wanton shadow

and the girl behind her emerged into the space I held inside me

with her fingers full of marigolds to trace the bulging shape

of the fibers that trellised over my love’s body,

the girl sowed her touch down the spine slowly through the opening

and I felt my own fingers curve as if to cup her there

her stroke raised ripples down the lake of my love’s neck

and between caresses the girl murmured does that feel good?

my love drew towards her like a heliotrope, her face

wilted into naked pleasure, languid as a willow’s reflection—

the girl withdrew her hand as soon as she cleared

the fruits from her heavy mouth and gasped yes very good

when the girl broke the circuit between them my tongue throbbed

while my love sighed then why did you stop? I said

I’ll take over and we three shone with our laughter

we sat ruby-lipped and distant through a hush of mirth

pantomiming both pleasure and withholding

as we pretended our coal-flamed fingers couldn’t stroke

in earnest on each other’s sun drunk swells of skin

---

Anna B. Wilkes is a bi poet who co-runs a small farm in Monticello, Florida. She earned her MFA in poetry from Rutgers University-Newark, and her BA in English from the University of Tennessee. Her work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Stirring: A Literary Collection, Luna Luna, Apogee, Twin Pies, and elsewhere. She tweets @poemsandfungus.