Cotton Innocence

The mountain underneath us,
no world,
just air and grass
and a broken roof between us and the immensity of blue haze,
and that skirt immodestly sliding up muscled thighs
to reveal a white patch modestly dressing that junction of your body
permeating the innocence of cotton
with invasive wine cellar fragrances
and spreading stains.

The growling rumble... not a tiger... you assured me
sliding backwards on top of the moss covered wooden tabletop
and dragging me on top of you
unbuckling, unzipping, unlacing, liberating me in one fluent motion
and guiding my mouth into your fangs
and the rest of me inside you.

I should have brought another pair of panties, you giggled
after having dropped environmental-conscientiously
the tormented, drenched cotton leftovers
in a public garbage bin.
Hey, it has no bottom, I laughed hysterically
seeing them float to the ground,
enjoying the secrecy of knowing you naked
underneath the knee length skirt.

That’s funny, I thought,
those tens of butterflies fluttering around your ankles,
finally hanging upside down to the skirt’s hem
spinning several times on spidery legs and pinhead indecision
which flower to choose.
Don’t ask me, I told them,
knowing what my choice would have been.

We reached the hotel room late at night.
Careful... you whispered,
as I pulled the skirt over your head and away from your body,
the inner lining crawling with sleepy butterflies
angrily fluttering their indignation at the invasion of privacy.
Ha, I commented, they are the indignant ones...
hanging the skirt from the overhead lamp.
What do we do with these? I asked,
pointing to the few that still clung to my territories on your skin.
I guess you will have to work your way around them,
you grinned mischievously
dragging me on top of you
unbuckling, unzipping, unlacing, liberating me in one fluent motion
and guiding my mouth into your fangs
and the rest of me inside you.
Hey, gently... I muttered, before forgetting.

I woke up in the morning, yawning lazily...
then suddenly jumped in fright
tearing my head away from your belly.
There was no reason,
we’ve probably been extremely gentle last night,
not even one wing lay crushed to your thigh
yet the commotion against the glass was unbearable...
Wait, wait, you light cannibals... I shouted
and rushed to the window pushing it open
to screams and squeals in the street beneath
as a glinting cloud in thousands of fluttering colors
burst out of the room
and streaked like a kite’s multiple tail
up the mountain.
Hey, you too... I nudged the little fellow
still cluttering your cotton innocence with his impertinent colors,
reluctant in his own little way to leave.
He yawned, poorly emulating my earlier gesture,
stretched a pair of wings the size of a baby dragon’s
and in a gesture covering the sun for moments few
squeezed through the window and zoomed out following the swarm,
dropping a rain of glittery confetti taking ages to reach the ground.

Love, sorry, I think you’ll have to change panties again, I said,
terribly embarrassed,
pointing to the wet spot the last butterfly left behind.
It was the first time I saw this kind of ripe-watermelon red
mount so rapidly to your cheeks.
I got the point, when I saw the spot spread slowly wider...
There was no drag, unbuckle, unzip, unlace and liberate this time,
though the thing with fangs and the rest of me inside you stayed the same.
And the bin did have a bottom this time.
Poor innocent cotton.