Breath-hold diving

/, Blesok no. 71-73/Breath-hold diving

Breath-hold diving

The Color of the Bura, the Exuberance of Hair
The Island Sightseeing
Breath-Hold Diving
Dramatic Peaks on Fridays after the Fish in the Workplace Canteen
Foam of the Day
A Picture

after a two hour ride over the blacktop
road, still hot from the trip, we’ve got into the automatic
carwash. from the many nozzles
burst a thick foam, and the view from the car utterly darkened.
i took his right hand and pulled her on my knee.
the picture of the world changed at once: as if he hit
by an adrenaline broom, he sneaked his hand
upwards: the moisture broke through the panties faster than the cascades
that rabidly poured down the bright slopes of the vehicle.
with rapid move he slid the same hand under my bottom,
not moving from his seat, with his thin and nervous middle finger
he began to conduct a military performance of beethoven’s ninth,
to me familiar mostly from a clockwork orange: the philharmonic,
the known jewish soloist with a name hard to memorize,
the blinking lamp away from the stage
and the hand that conducts with energetic moves.
with the speed of a jaguar i’ve leaned over and
opened the way for it. with one jerk i unflowered the zip
on his dark blue bermuda shorts with side pockets
and a jolly, nicely shaped cock already wriggled
in my mouth. i strongly drilled it with my tongue,
until the sweetly spill out reminded me
of the circumstances. according to the armature
clock four minutes have passed, if i remembered properly
the time of entry. big multi-barrel fan dried
the car now shining in the unbearable
light of another hot summer afternoon
the green turned on the traffic light and
with a routine move he pushed into gear.
at the exit the cashier lazily
waved good-bye.


Translated by: Boris Gregorić

2018-08-21T17:22:55+00:00 June 30th, 2010|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 71-73|0 Comments