Nikki Busch
Your shiny red truck
at midnight
Christmas Eve,
your fortress against festivities,
let me in;
let me show you how to celebrate away
the demons of dysfunction past.
Inside the cold depths of this silent metal Mass,
my hand catches yours,
removes it from its clenched grip on the steering wheel,
strokes away your refusal
to see Christmas in a new light,
with me,
just me
by your side.
I graze the inside of your wrist,
ignite the hearth within your heart.
Ah yes I knew it was in there,
just had to stoke it.
My fingers lap like errant embers
beneath your corduroy shirt,
searing your belly
and the surface of your bra.
Plunging deeper,
I discover your hidden gift,
moist and waiting for delivery;
the only present I demand,
and you give it.
Plentifully.
Christmas Eve
in your shiny red truck,
we revel in the heat
and hum
of a hungry holy love.